Unnamed Series
by Minerva Solo
Summary: Schwarz have split up, and Brad & Nagi have moved to NYC. They both find it hard to settle in, in their own ways, and even day to day life as a ‘normal’ person is challenging when you’re used to grand schemes and apocalypses. New episode up!
1. These aren't chapters, honest!

**Unnamed Series**

**A/N:** I felt things needed… simplifying. This series is going to go on indefinitely, so starting each summary with 'part x in the unnamed series' or 'sequel to this, which is sequel to that, which is sequel to… which is sequel to New York' I thought I might was well stick them all under one heading. One catch: this isn't a multipart. Each fic here is a oneshot. Most can even be read as such, up to a certain point. I don't know why I feel the need to be so adamant about this, since it really doesn't matter; it just feels like so much more of a series than a multipart. Maybe it's just my way of justifying to myself that this won't run to thirty 'episodes'. From now on, any new fics added to this series will appear here, rather than as oneshots. It may seem daft, sticking them all in one file, old and new, but I figure it saves people having to dig through my userpage to find all the previous fics in the series if they're all here. I don't want to discourage potential readers, you see, and I don't doubt that seeing 'sequel 19 in the unnamed series' puts a lot of people off. Especially with the number of fics on my userpage – it's starting to look a tad absurd ^_^ I've deleted the old versions now, so you've just got these. The most recent addition is 'Subject to Change', 18/11/03.

So, on with the business stuff, which I'm putting here so I only need do it once.

**Summary:** Schwarz have split up, and Brad and Nagi have moved to New York. They both find it hard to settle in, in their own ways, and even day to day life as a 'normal' person is challenging when you're used to grand schemes and apocalypses. But, slowly, they learn to move on and let go of their past, making new friends and befriending old enemies.

**Disclaimers:** Weiss, Schwarz, and co. are all copyright of Project Weiss and do not belong to me in any way shape or form. Though on that note, Michael does belong to me. If you don't like him, you can take issue with me. He just kinda turned up one day, as a complete opposite to Schuldig. Oh, right, back to the legal bit - I am making no money from these fics, and they are written solely to please myself and any one else who, well, finds them pleasing.

**Time Setting:** Post Drama CDs. Really, you don't have to have heard them. If you intend to hear them/read the translation, and are terrified of spoilers, look away now. 

_Right.__ Still here? Okay, all you really need to know is that Farfarello married a girl called Sally (I'm not making this up, honest!) Weiss are living in a van and Ken and Yohji have, well, gone a bit nuts. They don't actually end up in an insane asylum during the Drama CDs, not until after Omi has left, anyway, but for the sake of convenient plotting I'm ignoring that. Oh, and I'm also ignoring whichever bit says Nagi got signed up by Kritiker while they were in __Germany__. _

Okay, you can look again. Anyway, much as I like Gluhen, we're ignoring, well, pretty much all the Gluhen canon, and the tail end of the Drama CDs anyway.

**Warnings**: Yaoi, shounen ai, sap, angst, OC (in 'All the Small Things', it's just him and Brad in a lift, so if you're vehemently opposed to OCs skip that fic, and move on to the next, where his role is once more much depleted, though not as small as some of the earlier fics), AU

**And finally:**

You've probably noticed that this series, well, lacks a name. And is seven parts long. With an eighth on the way. So I have asked for suggestions. If I pick one from someone here, I'll write you a giftfic. With any pairing. Even weird ones (Crawford / Hel anyone? How about Manx / Neu or Schuldig / Hirofumi?). Feel free to come up with more (pairings and titles, please!). I've cut the number of title I'm considering down to five. In no particular order, other than the one I wrote them down in:

Citing Fate - Shy

Shedding Old Skins – Purple Hotagi

Separation Anxiety – Trenchcoat Man

Fade From Black – Shiroki K.

Split Cocoon – Shiroki K.

Thing is, all of these would make great titles for later parts to the series or alternative names for parts already written, more than they would names for the series as a whole. Eeep. I'm toying with the idea of something based on the word 'chrysalis', like a butterfly pupae, but I can't for the life of me think what.

So, on with the fics!


	2. New York

New York 

Brad knelt by the futon and contemplated waking the tossing boy. Twisted amongst sweat-soaked sheets, Nagi was in the midst of a particularly violent nightmare. Brad knew that he was somewhere in the past.

"Daddy? Daddy, no. No, daddy, no, please, daddy, no, no…" Nagi murmured, his voice rising to a crescendo before breaking into choked sobs.

Brad made his decision; he reached down and laid a hand on Nagi's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. Indigo eyes sprang open.

The next few moments were utter chaos. Brad's mind insisted on sorting simultaneous events into a consecutive order, despite his awareness that everything really did happen at once. He was pinned to a wall, Nagi was rolled in a ball under his computer desk, the window smashed, the door flew off it's hinges and all hat could be heard was the clock, ticking stoically.

Brad collapsed from the wall, and crawled unthreateningly over to where Nagi was curled in a tight ball, shaking and trembling.

"Nagi?" Brad whispered. "Prodigy?"

At the sound of his codename, Nagi's frightened eyes peeped over the top of his arm. Slowly he uncurled, blushing furiously.

"Brad, I'm so sorry," Nagi's voice shock almost as hard as he did.

"I should have known better than to wake you during a nightmare," Brad admitted.

"What are you still doing up?" Nagi wriggled out from under the desk and stood up. Brad noticed with a tender pang that the boy's silk pyjamas were at least four inches too short at the ankle. "Did I wake you?"

"Oh, I wasn't really tired. I was just thinking about heading to bed," Brad lied. He'd had no such intention.

"You haven't had a proper night's sleep since we moved here," Nagi accused. The still ticking clock read five past three .

"Do you want some cocoa? It might help you get back to sleep," Brad offered.

"Only if you have some as well," Nagi told the older man.

"I can live with that."

* * *

Nagi sat on the plush couch while Brad made the hot chocolate. The couch faced the window that filled an entire wall, overlooking New York City . It was a penthouse apartment, hugely, ridiculously, expensive. The furniture was a somber brown on a light wood floor, the walls a soft beige and the lights hidden in the walls and ceiling to give off a gentle glow. The lights were off tonight, but Nagi preferred it that way. The only light in the room came from the city and a fish tank built into one of the other walls.

The fish had been a gift from Brad. Now they no longer lived with Farfarello they could have a pet. Brad had suggested a dog, but Nagi turned him down. Smaller animals followed: guinea pigs and rabbits and gerbils and hamsters and rats and mice, but Nagi turned them all down. Then the exotic suggestions: snakes and lizards and parrots, but Nagi turned them down too. No one mentioned cats.

Eventually, Nagi had given in, but on his own terms. Fish. Easy to care for and didn't demand any special attention. They didn't need to be petted and loved, they didn't need emotions Nagi didn't think he could provide. They'd compromised though, the fish were tropical. A bit more work, but still undemanding. The blue light from the tank gave the room a similarly exotic tinge.

Nagi was startled from his reverie by Brad. He sat next to the small boy, placing two large mugs of cocoa on the black wooden coffee table in front of them. He leant back and rested his feet on the same table. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes.

"Brad," Nagi eventually broke the calm, apprehension building as he spoke, "do you think you might be having trouble sleeping because you're not used to sleeping alone?"

"I've spent most of my life sleeping alone," Brad replied shortly.

"I meant, do you miss Schuldig?" Nagi felt uncharacteristically blunt asking that, but it had to be said.

There was silence. Brad took several sips from his coca, ignoring the way it burnt his tongue and roof of his mouth. "Yes." He put the cup down. "I miss Farfarello too. I miss Schwarz."

"I know what you mean," Nagi leant against Brad's torso, feeling the older man shift to accommodate him. "We got a postcard from him yesterday, did you see it? I left it on the hall table."

"No, I didn't." Brad got up, causing Nagi to slide into a prone position, curled up on the couch. He fetched the small square of card from a desk beside the front door before returning to sit in an armchair. "We don't even rate a letter any more," he said sadly.

"Oh, I don't think it's that. He's just busy, and he's not the sort to write a lot anyway." Nagi tried to defend his friend, but his words sounded hollow even to himself. How had Schuldig managed to move on, while the two of them were still mourning the separation? It wasn't fair!

"He's making quite a name for himself in Germany," Brad observed with a derisive frown. "Porn."

"He enjoys it." Nagi blushed. That had come out right, but it sounded like it should have come out wrong.

"Quite." Brad pinned the postcard to a corkboard, where it looked oddly forlorn amongst aging letters and doctor's reports. "It wasn't the same after Farfarello left," he sighed, "but Sally wouldn't even let him come to Japan ." He glanced over at Nagi, who was now upright but curled up in a ball again. "There's nothing I can do," he said forcefully. "She's not going to let him come back to us. She wants to have nothing to do with Schwarz after Schuldig attacked her."

"I can't believe we let him get married," Nagi stared at the floor. He had come so close to saying 'you' there. He didn't notice Brad move across the room until he felt the older man sit beside him, gently resting an arm around Nagi's shoulders.

"There's nothing we could do. He wanted to get married, and, well, it wasn't worth saying no to him. At least he helped when we were fighting Rosenkreuz, even if it was in mind only. He saved my life. You seemed okay with his departure at the time, though. And, well, I'm sure he actually does read the letters you send him, even if Sally disapproves." Nagi's eyes burned as he stared at Brad. Was he really so…? Did he actually believe…? No, of course not, he was just trying to be comforting. Of course, he probably thought Nagi really believed it too, especially as Nagi still wrote at least once a week.

"How's school?" Brad asked softly, gently changing the subject from the past to the present.

"It's good," Nagi said dully. "At least I don't have to wear a stupid uniform."

"True."

"How's work?"

"Also good. Making lots of money."

"True."

They stared at each other. Nagi gave a tentative smile and Brad's mouth turned up at the edges. He tightened his arm around Nagi's shoulders, drawing him into a hesitant hug. He rested his chin on the younger boy's head, smelling the coconutty scent of his hair.

"Let's face it, they're over us," Nagi said. "We have to move on."

"I know, but it's hard." Brad grimaced. He couldn't believe he was saying this sort of thing. "I miss Schuldig. And he doesn't miss me." There. He'd said it. And it still hurt.

"I think he might, you know, but this is his way of getting over the pain. By submerging himself in his work." They exchanged a look. "Okay, maybe not," Nagi admitted with a grin, "but it can't hurt to believe it." Brad grinned and hugged him tighter.

"It's time for you to get back to bed. No more nightmares, okay?"

"It's not like I choose to have these dreams," Nagi pouted. "I hate it!"

"It's okay," Brad smoothed down Nagi's tousled hair. Nagi yawned, leaning into Brad's hand. "I'm going to have to carry you, aren't I?" Nagi nodded. Brad sighed and lifted the slender form in his arms. Nagi nestled against his chest, yawning again. Brad couldn't understand how the kid did it. One minute wide-awake, the next out like a light. He envied Nagi.

Tucking the teenager into bed, Brad said his goodnights. He returned to the main room to clear up the coca mugs. He stopped for a moment, leaning against the wall and staring out the window. The city never slept. And, it seemed, neither did he. Nagi didn't know the extent of his insomnia.

The lights were hypnotic. Cars streamed down lonely roads and streets, like rivulets of water down a window, stopping and starting and grouping together and breaking apart. He realised with a faint smile that it actually was raining. No, snowing. It was snowing outside.

Brad shook himself and walked into the small kitchen, putting the mugs into a dishwasher. Nagi would be overjoyed tomorrow, when he saw the city. Perhaps he'd wake the boy up early and show it to him before the pedestrians and drivers got they're grubby feet and wheels all over it. He started thinking about what Nagi had said. Yes, he did miss Schuldig, and the presence of another warm body in the bed to press up against on cold winter nights like this one.

Brad started to return to his room, to perform the nightly ritual. He'd undress, put on his pyjamas (Nagi had bought them for him for Christmas), lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Sometimes he'd shut his eyes, but it made no difference.

He was about to get into bed when he heard a whimper from the other room. Nagi was on the verge of another nightmare, it seemed. Brad sighed and pushed open the door. Nagi was curled tightly in a thin sheet, looking lost and tiny against the white expanse.

Brad wasn't a person to do things when the mood took him, to follow a moment's compulsion, but it was nice to do it once in a while. Nagi smiled as he felt the warm pressure against his back and the heavy arm gently curled over his slender chest, and he smiled even harder when Brad started to snore.


	3. Snow Day

Snow Day 

Nagi stared at his footprint. It was crisp and white and perfect, and it didn't mar the beauty of the snow as he'd thought it might. And it was small. He wrinkled his nose. It was a small footprint, compared with the expanse of snow. He'd never really realised how small he was, compared with this city.

Brad smiled, watching his companion from a distance. The school had had to close when the heating went out, and Nagi was wandering around Central Park. He wasn't aware of Brad's presence, but the Oracle had set out almost an hour ago to wait for him. A hot cup of coffee and some warm pastries were in order. Nagi didn't know it yet, but he'd aced that test he'd been worrying about.

Nagi crouched down, digging his fingers in the snow. It was cold. Well, duh! Nagi smiled at himself. His scarf dragged in the snow, and he watched the crystals melt on the fringed end. His fingers began to turn white, then a pale pink.

"Nagi?"

Nagi tumbled forwards, getting a mouthful of snow.

"Hey look, the Jap's, um…" Nagi climbed to his feet and turned to stare eye-to-navel with his antagonist. He stepped backwards.

"Oh, so witty." The guys laughed. "Tom, Ahan," Nagi greeted them. Alan grinned.

"L's just ain't your thing, are they, squirt?"

"Nah," Nagi grinned.

"So, drawing plans for bombing another harbour in the snow?" The third guy, Bill, sneered. Alan and Tom gave him odd looks.

"Wait, are you making some 'Pearl Harbour' joke?" Nagi frowned, confused. "Should I make some McDonalds crack in return? Perhaps a George Dubya Bush quote?"

"Hey, my father voted for him!" Alan teased. Nagi flushed immediately and stammered an apology. "Hey, don't sweat it. Joke." Nagi remained red.

"You are so weird," Tom observed.

Nagi sighed, momentarily oblivious to his companions. Not even companions, really. They didn't know his surname, they didn't know he lived with Brad, they didn't know he didn't have any family, and they definitely didn't know anything about Schwarz. That, Nagi could live with, but they didn't know anything. They didn't know _him_. No one did. Okay, so perhaps he kept himself separate, a little aloof, rather shy. But that was him. And no one else had even tried to make an effort. Alan had been assigned as his lab partner, and Tom his guide, and they were the only people in the entire school after almost six months that knew his name. He was a non-entity in this huge city, and he didn't even have the old excuse of 'they make me' any more. He simply wasn't adjusting.

The fist caught him by surprised. He sailed gracefully backwards into a snowdrift piled against a tree. As his head connected with the tree itself, leaving him with a pounding headache, there was another soft thud as branch released its load into his lap.

"Hah!"

Nagi blinked. Bill glowered down at him.

"Gomen nasai," he murmured dazedly. He didn't even know what he was apologising for. His existence, possibly.

"Huh? Speak American, you little twat!"

"It's English, idiot," Nagi growled. When he had learnt English at Rosenkruez, it had been British English, not American English. Most of Europe learnt British English, and Nagi had suffered when he picked up an 'Americanism' from Crawford. It had made him a little sensitive about the whole issue, to be honest.

"What? I don't like weird people, got that, nigger?" 

Nagi groaned inwardly. There were two types of racist. Some believed their arguments were right and just, and would debate it with anyone (provided they were the same race). The believed in Biblical reasons for racial superiority, or genetic. They supported apartheid and 'cultural reserves', not wanting to persecute the poor inferior races, just keep them at arms length, like messy children. For them, it was something inherent. You could look like everyone else, but it was you ancestry that determined your status. Bill was not this kind of racist. He couldn't even keep his racial slurs straight. As far as he was concerned, looks were all that mattered. Nagi didn't look like him, therefore Nagi deserved to be bullied. It wasn't even really racism; it had nothing to do with race, he was just bored. It made a convenient excuse. He'd pick on someone with glasses if the mood took him, if there was no other visible difference to latch onto.

"I can't stand the Chinese!" Bill kicked him, hard.

  
"I'm Japanese," Nagi panted. "That's like saying the English are French!" _I must have a death wish_, he groaned internally.

"You're just here to leach off our country coz yours is so crap! You ain't even properly white, you just got those huge blue eyes so you can pretend! You ain't have a dollar to your name back home, right, so you came here to leach of those of us who work and worship God for what we get! Communist! Reddo!" Nagi shivered in the snow as a shadow passed over him.

"I think you may be thinking of China," a cultured voice snarled. Bill found himself suspended about a foot above the ground. "Though why you seem to find a political system based on equality so disgusting is above me." Brad raised an eyebrow. "I've seen many cultures, many governments, and I wouldn't say America was so great."

"Nigger-loving, Jew-hugging, arse-fucking -"

"You're joking?" Brad interrupted incredulously.

Bill spat at him.

Brad broke Bill's arm.

An extremely short while later, Nagi and Brad found themselves alone under the trees. Brad offered Nagi a hand and brushed him down. Nagi was shivering, almost blue. His trousers were soaked through and there was snow inside his coat and down his shirt. He looked like a scarecrow in winter.

"Come on, we need to get you home," Brad muttered. He slid off his coat, to Nagi's murmured protests. A passer-by gave them a sympathetic look, probably mistaking Nagi for a much younger boy out with his father, unprepared for the intensity of the cold. Well, they would have been almost right. Brad forced Nagi's arms into the large greatcoat and pushed his own gloves over Nagi's. Eventually, when Brad was standing in a thin shirt and trousers, and Nagi was trussed up like the Michelin Man, Brad began to lead Nagi back to the apartment.

* * *

Nagi was bedded down on the couch, positioned so he could stare out of the huge window. He had his hands wrapped around a half empty cup of hot chocolate. The reason it was half empty rapidly became apparent to Brad as he stared at the miserable boy.

"You sneezed?"

Nagi nodded. Hot chocolate covered the multitude of blankets. Brad sighed and made his way towards the makeshift bed, set up so Nagi could still see the snow. Nagi didn't have the heart to tell the older man he really didn't want to see the snow, as it reminded him he was missing it.

Brad sighed. "We'll just dump the whole lot in the washing machine for now. It's easier." When they moved in, one of the first things Brad had done was the installation of a washing machine. He couldn't stand doing laundry with a group of complete strangers. Too personal.

Nagi have climbed, half tumbled, off of the sofa and crawled a small distance across the floor.

"How are you feeling?" Brad glanced across at him. Nagi's eye was a spectacular black, and his ribs were a mass of bruises.

"By nose ib blocked an' by side and by 'ead 'urts," Nagi forced out. "I hate being sick!"

"I can sympathise. On that note, we got another card from Schuldig. Actually, we got a package." Nagi perked up a little. "Some photographs, staring himself 'naturally'." Nagi managed a small smile. Brad felt a pang for the younger man. He couldn't even call Nagi a boy, not after everything they'd both seen. "And something from Farfarello. I thought you'd like to open that." Crawford left the room, carrying the sheets.

Nagi tucked his knees under his chin and bit back a moan. He didn't want to know what Sally had sent. How could it be anything good? Farfarello had probably died. Sally hated Schwarz. She'd want to rub something like that in their faces, Nagi felt certain. He felt a tear creep down his cheek. For all he had hated being in Schwarz, they were all he had. If Crawford had left him in Japan he wouldn't have lasted a night. He wouldn't have wanted to.

And from what he had seen, neither would Crawford.

"It's all good. He's happy," Crawford said from behind him. Nagi jumped.

"You sure?" He asked with a nervous grin.

"I'm going to buy you coffee to celebrate on his behalf," Crawford reassured him.

Nagi tore into the envelope and stared at the precisely printed formal letter. He skimmed it, and snatched up the discarded envelope. A much smaller envelope fell out. Inside that was another letter.

_Dear Nagi. Thank you for your letters. Sally disapproves, and my wife is _

_everything__ to me, so I can't write as often as I would like. Being _

_able__ to feel again is an amazing experience, so I have no regrets overall. _

_The pleasures of marriage are many, though at your age I _

_Hope you are still mostly in the dark about them! _

_The companionship is the best thing, after being able to feel again. I feel switched _

_on__, alive, when I am with her. I miss you too, but you understand I can't give this up. _

_Going to __America_ _with Brad was a good idea. I hope you are not bored in class. Been _

_out__ and about recently? I haven't watched the news recently, but I heard it snowed. _

_Don't get too cold, you know what you're like with illnesses. _

_Hope Crawford is looking after you properly. Remember, you are an equal, not an _

_underling__. If he tries to push you around you know what to do. Does he have you _

_running__ errands and typing up his reports? You've probably created a program _

_to__ do that already! Any new programs you have not told me about yet? _

_How is Crawfish? You two must be doing extremely well with your combined talents. _

_Is it better than before? You two were the most dependent on our group. Though no _

_more__ on that. I bet Crawford is giving this letter and its reader the death glare! _

_For a while now, I've wanted to write, but Sally doesn't want me to return _

_or__ even see you guys again. She really hates Schuldig. He tired to _

_rape__ her. I've persuaded her now that you and Brad aren't so bad. _

_Marriage has its ups and downs. All ups, so far, and while I miss you I don't _

_envy__ you. I have missed my native country.  (Farfarello) Goodbye, Jei._

Nagi read the letter aloud, blinked and read it again. Then he laughed. Crawford reached over his shoulder and frowned at it. Then he laughed.

"She must have noticed that," he frowned. "I can't image Sally approves of Farfarello's obsession."

"She is a witch," Nagi pointed out. "Not a Christian."

"True. Well, how about that coffee?" Crawford smiled benevolently. After the reminder of their past, Nagi had to hold back a wince. It was Brad he lived with, not Crawford, but that smile still felt strange, like he was a client Crawford wanted to impress.

"I still don' feel bell," Nagi admitted. He sneezed again.

"You don't cope well with extremes of weather," Crawford observed. "Who were those boys?" It had been several days, but Brad had been loath to broach the subject. The few times he'd asked how Nagi was getting on a school Nagi had managed to change the subject before Crawford asked if he was making any friends.

"From school," Nagi grunted, clearly unwilling to discuss it. He blew his nose and handed Brad the tissue.

Brad sighed. "Nagi, are they giving you a lot of grief?"

"No. Bill is really bigoted, but the other two are okay. They know my name, which is more than most."

"You don't like it here. Do you?"

"I liked Japan. I liked Schwarz. I liked having Schuldig and Farfarello around and occasionally finding my work challenging. I haven't learnt a single new thing since coming here. I can't use my powers. I can't do anything of worth to anyone. I can't even defend myself against petty high school bullies who think Japan is the same as China!"

"I know."

"I know you know. Schuldig's enjoying himself. Farfarello seems to have accepted his situation, though you can't really tell with him. You and I are sitting in the Big Apple trying to pretend soon it will all be as it used to be." Nagi scowled bitterly. "I need Schwarz," he lamented. "They were the closest thing to a family I ever had. And you need people to be responsible for; it's in your character! How come the others are doing so well?"

"We get letters, Nagi, not proof they are. Do you think we should move? Try and find Schuldig, perhaps? Go and visit Farfarello?" Brad stared at the younger man.

"No. I… I don't think so. We're supposed to be trying to let go, remember? Besides, I quite like New York. But… I don't like the high school. And I don't like what we're doing here, i.e. nothing!"

"I know. We can't go back to what we had, but we're not going forwards either. I… I have an idea. Will you be okay here?"

Nagi frowned and nodded. "I'm going to go to bed," he told Brad, gathering up the few remaining blankets which had survived the sneeze-spilt cocoa. He stood unsteadily, and Brad helped him walk the short corridor to his room.

"I'll be back quite soon. Take a nap for now." Nagi smiled reassuringly, well, attempted to. Crawford frowned in concern, but left anyway.

* * *

It was bordering on five hours before Crawford returned, and Nagi had slept the whole time. He had woken up moments before Brad returned and crawled to the front room.

"How is it you always manage to wake up just in time for the meagre anime offerings they provide here?" Brad grinned sardonically. Nagi smiled.

Brad dumped a pile of paperwork on the table and started to go through it. He'd quit his job, dropped Nagi out of school, placed adverts in several newspapers and bought something he'd been meaning to for a while. It had begun to snow again, and Brad drew up two armchairs near the window so they could watch it. Nagi obediently turned off the television (he'd seen them all in Japan anyway) and joined the older man.

"What did you do?"

"Got coffee. To celebrate."


	4. Hot Coffee

**Hot Coffee**

Crawford frowned at the knock on the door. All of the people he knew in this city were already gathered in the apartment, i.e. Nagi. He stood up slowly, wincing as his knees clicked. He glanced out of the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over New York. Sunset. He hadn't moved in about five hours, then. It was a bad day when _Nagi_ had to remind _him to eat._

The sharp knocking came again. Crawford opened the door briskly, ready to send away any salesman or girl scout that disturbed him.

Instead, he was confronted by an African American man about the same height as he was, with neat black hair and an awkward smile. Square framed glasses were perched on his nose, and two brown paper wrapped packages were in his hands.

"Crawford? Um, you may not remember exactly-"

"Michael," Crawford offered a small smile. "Come in." Crawford stepped aside to allow the man who had been his colleague for the short while he'd actually worked in this country enter the luxurious apartment.

"You see," the young man began to explain his presence, "usually when someone leaves the office we get him or her a going away gift, but you left rather abruptly. Still, we put our money together and I was nominated to bring it over."

Crawford stared. A gift?

"But… but I was only working with you for about a month." Crawford was stunned. He kicked himself for not having foreseen this, but it hadn't occurred to him to even think about his old job since he'd quit. Perhaps a card? Yes, a card would have been a pleasant surprise, but a gift?

"We owe you. Thanks to you, everyone on the floor got a pay rise. You were always one step ahead of the market, it was amazing!" Michael stepped closer, still holding out the packages. "We're really going to miss you."

Something in Crawford broke. People he'd barely met, barely known, made no effort to socialise with were going to miss him. Admittedly, Michael meant the company more than the employees, but he was going to be missed. He accepted the packages mutely, an unusually sincere smile gracing his classic features.

"The other package," Michael said awkwardly, "I picked that up downstairs. I asked what floor you were on, and the girl at reception asked if I'd take that up to you." Crawford glanced at the smaller of the two parcels. From Berlin. Schuldig had sent them a package?

"Sorry about the mess," Crawford felt obliged to apologise. "I'm working on setting up a new business and contacting clients." Piles of paper graced the usually tidy room, stacked on desks, on chairs, on the floor. Crawford just hadn't felt like locking himself in his tiny office, and needed the space the windows seemed to provide.

"It's a wonderful apartment," Michael said sincerely. "Amazing view. Did you have an interior designer?" Crawford shook his head, concentrating on the package I front of him. "You have to open it," Michael grinned. "I promised the others I get your reaction."

Carefully peeling of the tape and unfolding the paper, putting it to one side to be either reused or recycled, Crawford found himself staring at a large book. His fingers traced the patterns on the glossy cover.

"The Complete Beatles?" Crawford's lips curved into a self-satisfied grin. "I'd forgotten I'd even mentioned that." He gestured to a cabinet in the wall. "Every single record they ever produced is in there," he smiled. "Thank you. Thank the others for me as well."

"Just glad you liked it," Michael beamed. He wasn't about to mention that Crawford hadn't been the only one to forget he'd mentioned his love of the Beatles, so had everyone else in the office until Michael reminded them.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Crawford put the book down carefully on a well-polished mahogany coffee table.

"Please," Michael grinned. Crawford set off to the small, modern kitchen at the rear of the apartment.

Michael settled himself on the leather sofa, staring out of the window. As it got darker, the lights snapped on above, glowing pleasantly. All in all, it was quite a 'warm' room, despite the severity of the furniture. He gazed out of the window, lulled by the traffic as Crawford had been a few weeks earlier.

"Crawford-san?" Michael's head snapped around to see a confused Nagi staring at him.

"He's making coffee," Michael offered.

"Oh."

Thoughts flittered through Michael's brain. Was this Crawford's boy toy boyfriend? He was stunning and exotic, and strangely ethereal standing with the lights behind him. Michael tried to guess Nagi's age. He eventually settled on 'between thirteen and thirty'. While his body was younger than his years, his eyes were much older. Nagi's past showed in his very demeanour.

"My name is Nagi," the Japanese boy eventually introduced himself. He sat down next to Michael.

"Michael," the older man offered.

"Who are you?" Nagi asked innocently.

"Mi- Oh, I used to work with Mr Crawford. We bought him a gift, and I brought it over."

"He doesn't get many gifts. He won't tell me when his birthday is and we don't celebrate religious festivals. This will have meant a lot to him." Nagi spotted the book on the coffee table. He gave a small smile, which, for Nagi, was quite a large smile. "He really likes the Beatles. He likes the messages in the music. They're pleasant to listen to as well, which is an added bonus." Michael grinned.

"So-" he blushed awkwardly. How do you asked that question?

"I'm Crawford-san's ward," Nagi explained smoothly. "We met in Japan, when I was very young."

"You speak amazing English," Michael offered.

"I also speak German. I went to school in Germany. I have lived with Crawford-san since I was about eight. We worked together back in Japan, with a German and an Irishman." Nagi spotted the package from Schuldig. "Speaking of which, this must be from Schuldig, our German friend."

"Doesn't Schuldig mean guilty?" Michael asked in confusion.

"Yes," Nagi said simply. He opened the parcel much less sedately than Crawford had opened his and stared at the enclosed video. A blush crept up his face. "Oh. Oooh." A note fell out. He grabbed it quickly and scanned the contents. He went a little redder.

"Would you like some cocoa?" Crawford appeared around the door. 

Nagi nodded and held up the video. In rapid Japanese he said "He's sent us porn! Porn with him in! Can you believe it? Does he actually expect us to watch it? I'm too young as it is, and it's just tactless."

"Did he send a note?" Crawford asked in the same language.

"Yes. He said someone asked for his autograph recently. He's an idiot, working not only in Berlin, but he's using Schwarz as his surname! I have half a mind to write back and yell at him." Nagi frowned.

"Don't bother. It will only encourage him." As if for the first time, Crawford noticed Michael's presence. Michael hadn't understood a word on the conversation, but Nagi was holding up a video with a picture on the front of a redhead lying through one of those x-ray machine you get at airports to check hand luggage, obviously naked. He recognised the name 'Schuldig Schwarz' on the front, and wondered exactly what Crawford and Nagi used to do for a living together.

"Schuldig…" Nagi stuttered. "Schuldig went to Berlin when we left Japan."

"Yes, our colleague became a porn star. He reminds us of this periodically, I'm afraid," Crawford took the video from Nagi as he continued to address Michael. "He's pretty, but uneducated. For him it was an ideal career." Michael laughed, easing the tension slightly.

"Yeah, I had an ex-boyfriend like that. Stunning, but not a thought in that pretty little head of his." Crawford's lips thinned and he pressed his hands together. Nodding pleasantly he returned to the kitchen. Nagi chewed his lip and sat perched on the very edge of the seat. "Shit," Michael said suddenly. "Well, that's one way to come out."

Nagi glanced up and offered a tiny smile by way of reassurance. "Schuldig was Crawford's lover before we left Japan," he said in a small voice.

"Oh. Ooh. Damn." Michael sighed. "Sometimes I think I just out to have my voice box taken out and be done with it."

"You didn't know. You thought he was homophobic then, didn't you?" Nagi's eyes sparkled. "You were upset by that thought. You find Crawford attractive. He's invited you in and is making you coffee. He likes you."

"Seriously?" Michael frowned.

"Certainly. If he didn't you would have been left at the door. Crawford doesn't like most of society."

Michael couldn't stop the smile. Nagi smiled back and relaxed against the leather back of the couch. Crawford's head reappeared.

"How do you take your coffee?" he asked.

"Black, with four sugars." Crawford nodded briskly and disappeared again.

"Hot as hell, black as night and sweet as an Angel's kisses," Nagi murmured.

"What?"

"It's a quote. I can't remember who said it. 'I like my men like I like my coffee, hot as hell, black as night and sweet as an Angel's kisses'." Nagi gave a mischievous grin. "Crawford takes his coffee black and full of sugar too."

Michael blushed. Crawford re-entered the room, carrying a tray with three mugs on. He handed Nagi his hot chocolate and sat down in his armchair, holding out the tray for Michael to take his coffee. Nagi smiled at the mug.

"So, what are you doing here?" Michael asked. "All this paper, you're setting up a new business, right?"

"Yes," Crawford smiled over his mug. "Body guards and security. It's what we did in Japan, but there were four of us then."

"We were bodyguards for the president of Japan," Nagi said with a hint of pride. "That's got to look amazing on any CV."

"Didn't he-" Michael stopped abruptly.

"Die? Yes." Crawford grinned. "He fired us mere hours before."

"Wow. That's got to put people off firing you." Crawford nodded and settled back a little further into his seat. Nagi got up suddenly.

"I left the internet on. I should go check." He fled abruptly. Crawford sighed.

"I'm beginning to wonder if I did the right thing regarding Nagi," he admitted suddenly. Michael sat forwards. "He gets very nervous around company. Very solitary boy." Crawford put his mug down. "He has an IQ of over 180, you know. He didn't get on well at school in Japan, and then I bring him here. They put him in a grade in which he was two years younger than everyone else, and he's still bored out of his mind. He was bullied quite badly."

"So you took him out of school. It's a reasonable decision." Michael smiled reassuringly.

"I thought it was, but now I'm not so sure. The only person he comes into contact with on any kind of regular basis is me. It's not healthy. He has very little social experience, he's introverted, he's shy. I don't want to drive him out of society altogether. The only people he knows are over the internet."

"Maybe there's some other activity you could enrol him in? I don't know, chess. That can be challenging if your partner's good, and it's relatively solitary, so he won't be overwhelmed by people."

"You know, that's a really good idea. And if I still can't detach him from his computer he can always play over the internet. Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome. He's a whiz kid with computers, then?"

"He writes programs. I gave up on Windows, on Apple Mac, on all the mass produced systems a while ago now. He writes whatever I need, and it invariably works perfectly. And it's usually compatible with anything."

"He could make a mint! My computer died a while ago, and no one can find out what's wrong with it. Something to do with Windows."

"I'll ask him to take a look at it. He's not shy about handing out his programs, either, so if you ask I'm sure he'll write you a tailor made operating system."

"Thank you." Michael finished the last of his coffee. "So, why security?"

"It's what we used to do. Admittedly, it was easier with four of us, but I imagine whatever job we get here will be considerably less pressure."

"Why did you leave Japan?"

Crawford grimaced. Michael seemed like a nice guy, more than a nice guy in fact, but there were something things that he couldn't be told. The summoning definitely counted among them. But Crawford didn't want to lie. Nagi had been right when he said Crawford liked Michael, and he didn't want to start what could be a promising friendship on falsities.

"There were some legal issues. Nothing insurmountable, but it was easier to leave than try and work out the kinks in our visas. One of our number almost ended up in a mental institute, but ended up getting married instead. Schuldig decided he could make a better living in Berlin, and rather than return to Japan, since many of our old contacts were, um, 'severed', I decided that it might be nice to return to my home city again and dragged Nagi with me. Nagi still write to both of our old partners, and we get the occasional letter."

"Um, wow. Mental institute? Uh, sorry. Oh. Wow." Michael blushed. Crawford kicked himself for being so candid. Of course it wasn't the sort of thing you tell someone you barely know! Crawford sighed. SS had made certain they'd never be able to operate among normal people for any length of time. He felt socially inadequate, and was aware this feeling was what made him so concerned for Nagi at the moment.

"So... are you going to hire anyone else? I mean, if you're used to working with four and you're running half staffed." Crawford stared at Michael. They were just going to keep talking? Michael was accepting what Crawford had said and was continuing the conversation?

"Uh, no, I don't think so," Crawford spluttered, feeling even less prepared than he had when Michael gave him the gift. "We had a good group dynamic, and I don't want to try and force others to fit that dynamic. Plus, we knew each other really well. I don't think I could trust my life to strangers."

"I guess it was pretty dangerous."

"Yes. But Takatori wasn't a popular man, so we had a lot of work. I hope we can get a job with an employer who's a little less controversial here."

"Not Bush, then." Michael grinned. Crawford grinned back. It was comfortable for several moments.

Michael sighed as he glanced out of the window. "I guess I ought to be going," he admitted.

"If you'd like to stay for dinner?" Crawford couldn't believe he was hearing himself say this.

"I would, but I promised to meet someone else," Michael kicked himself for making prior arrangements, especially when he saw a brief flicker of disappointment on Crawford's face. "How about Monday?" he said suddenly.

"Yes, Monday. If you come over about six?" Crawford positively beamed.

"That would be great. I'll bring wine, shall I?"

"Yes. Perhaps we'll even be able to pry Nagi from his computer, if you tell him about the problems with yours," Crawford grinned. Michael grinned. Crawford walked him to the door. "Thank you very much for the book."

"I'm glad you like it, Crawford."

"Bradley. Call me Bradley." Brad smiled awkwardly and polished his glasses with his shirt.

"Bradley. That's a really nice name." Michael took Brad's glasses from him and placed them onto his face. Brad blinked through them as Michael leant over and gave him a very gentle, very chaste, peck on the lips. "I'll see you Monday at six, then. Goodnight."

"Bye," Crawford murmured, stunned. As the door closed, he started to smile.


	5. Windows

**Windows**

_Thanks to __suninun__ for pointing out something I'd missed when editing the fic!_

Nagi stared at the flickering screen. The clock in the corner pointed out he'd been on for almost twenty-four hours, but he wasn't tired. He was waiting for Crawford to come back from his date. He'd been gone sixteen of those twenty-four hours. Nagi had a vague urge to find some champagne to greet him with. He settled for a mug of hot cocoa now, and everything laid out to make Brad some coffee later.

He ran his fingers over the keys, trying to dispel the thoughts that usually followed when he contemplated Brad's newfound happiness. Well, feelings, really. Jealousy. Resentment. Bitter loneliness. He was the only one left who hadn't moved on now, the only one without any kind of relationship in his life.

He glanced at a photo propped up on his sideboard. A blue haired girl grinned cheekily at him. He hadn't even known Tot had survived the collapse of the mansion until he'd got a letter from her that morning, detailing how she'd met Hidaka Ken in the insane asylum and how well they were getting on and how she'd never understood until now what love really was and…

The photo slammed face down into the desk, the glass shattering. Nagi stared at it. Of all the people in his life, he'd thought he could depend on her. If not to be one hundred percent faithful than to at least be dead. He turned his head back to the screen. A classified FBI page greeted him, but even playing with secret government files wasn't going to get him out of this mood. Without touching the keys he left the site and found a chatroom. Maybe some complete stranger with an utterly ridiculous name offering him cybersex would cheer him up? Unlikely, but he could get a few cheap laughs out of taunting the room's other occupants.

Nagi browsed, avoiding the themed chatrooms and teen chatrooms and eventually ending up in an inconspicuous 'hotel'. It was plain and simple, with a few obvious regulars and a handful of teenagers there for the same reason as himself. He flirted dully, chatting up middle-aged men and prepubescent girls alike.

A name caught his eye. Probably someone in India, or possibly just in an Indian Restaurant. Still, it brought back memories. He considered suggesting a private chat, but was distracted by a girl claiming to be 46 24 36, which left Nagi questioning whether she could actually stand up without tipping forwards.

Suddenly, a small window popped up. He'd been invited to a private chat. Bored already of his conversation with someone who was probably an eleven-year-old boy, he clicked it open and started at the name that presented itself.

Bombay Nights: _Hey_

Nagi stared. Surely it was too much coincidence? Of course it was. And both names were quite asexual, so there was no need to assume it was a guy, but it could be, and what if it was and it was who Nagi thought it was?

'_Hi_' he typed suspiciously.

Bombay Nights: _where are you?_

Prodigy: _NYC. You?_

Bombay Nights: _Just outside of __Tokyo__._

Nagi sat back. Okay, too much coincidence. Still…

Prodigy: _m/f?_

Bombay Nights_: m. You?_

Prodigy: _same_

Definitely freaky. A guy, with the word Bombay in his name, near Tokyo, randomly picking himself, who'd used his code name, after no prior conversation to chat? Maybe he was just being paranoid, but his mind struggled to think of some way to check.

Bombay Nights: _Sorry, g2g_.

Bombay Nights: _ttfn___

Prodigy: _Goodbye_.

~ Your message cannot be delivered, as the room is empty of other occupants. ~

Nagi felt oddly relieved. He didn't have to find out who this mystery person was. What would he have done if he were right, anyway? The Pacific separated them. They couldn't hurt each other. Well, sure, they were both hackers, but both kept their IP addresses well hidden under layers of coding and encryption. Still, it would have been a link, wouldn't it? To that old life. Perhaps they wouldn't exactly reminisce together, but it could have been interesting.

The door behind him opened very quietly. Nagi hit close quickly, but Crawford was already peering over his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be asleep," Brad rested a hand on his shoulder. "You haven't been on chatrooms all night, have you?"

"No! I was just bored." Nagi glanced up and back to see Brad, unshaved, in last night's clothes, minus the tie he'd left with and two buttons, smiling like an idiot down at him. "You got laid," Nagi grinned back.

"I, uh… yes," Brad gave in. "Sorry, I should have called to let you know I wasn't going to be back."

"And spoilt the moment? If you'd called, you might have ended up coming back," Nagi pointed out. "I kinda figured you weren't going to be here. Michael winked at me as he dragged you out."

"He certainly planned it," Brad smiled, thinking back to the previous night. "Candles and music and everything," he grinned. "It's nice to be wooed, I think."

"I'll bet," Nagi studied him. "I can honestly say I don't think I've ever seen you this happy, even wi-" He mentally kicked himself. That was one person Brad didn't need to be reminded of just now.

"Even with Schuldig?" Brad finished for him, one eyebrow raised. "You may well be right." And with that enigmatic statement, he left Nagi's room.

Nagi was stunned. He stumbled over to the futon, curling up in a foetal position, hugging his knees to his chest. He realised he was fighting tears.

It was over. The line had been drawn. Farfarello had let go. Schuldig had let go. And now Brad had let go. It was just Nagi left, clinging to a past that had probably been better for him than all the others put together. They'd all moved on and left him behind, floundering alone in nostalgia and self-pity. He'd always cherished some hope that they'd all end up back together again. Brad would dump Michael, who he'd been seeing for several months now, and they'd rush to Germany to seduce Schuldig back and then they'd go to Ireland and make Farf divorce Sally (or just kill her, which ever was easier) and it would all be like before. But it would never happen now. Brad didn't want Schuldig any more, he wanted Michael. He wanted the new life. For him, the pros now outweighed the cons for sticking to this new home.

Nagi hated it. He hated him. Brad. Stupid Brad, stupid Michael, most stupid Schuldig for going off in the first place. Stupid Estet for trying to make them raise that stupid demon. And stupid Nagi for killing one of the Ancients, putting them on Estet's hit list and forcing them to flee and split up and get these new lives.

* * *

Crawford reached into the shower and plucked the razor blade from Nagi's damp grip. Nagi didn't protest.

"Are you going to tell me or leave me to guess?" Crawford said coolly. 

"What's there to tell?" Nagi clumped against the porcelain tiles, staring at Crawford around the shower curtain. "I hate the world, I hate me… To quote Oscar Wilde: 'this wallpaper will be the death of me; one of us has to go.'"

"You don't mean that," Crawford said assuredly.

"I want to, does that count?" Nagi accepted the towel and pulled himself out of the cold water. He sat on the edge of the bath and Crawford sat on the toilet seat. An over fluffy white bath mat lay between them, and Nagi dug his toes into it for comfort.

"'Wallpaper' can be changed, Nagi," Crawford said softly. "Life can be changed. Whatever's bothering you so suddenly can be put to rights."

"How do you know it's sudden?" Nagi said sulkily.

"It's got something to do with Michael and I, doesn't it?" Crawford looked pained. "It isn't a jealousy issue, is it?"

"No, it's not that. Look, if I wanted to leave, would you come with me?" Nagi gripped the edge of the bath.

"Of course. Is it something about New York? Michael's been talking about wanting to leave this city-"

"No! That's the wrong answer." Nagi looked distraught. "Without him. If I wanted to go to Berlin, to go and live with Schu…"

"I see." Crawford leant on his knees. "Nagi, do you miss them? Schuldig and Farfarello?"

"Yes," Nagi said in a strained whisper. "I miss Schwarz. I miss the way things were. We could still make them go back to how they were, I've got it all planned out…" he trailed off at the look on Crawford's face. "But now you're in love with Michael," Nagi sighed, "and there's no going back."

"You wouldn't try to hurt him, would you?" Crawford sounded unsure. He didn't think Nagi would, but he hadn't thought Nagi would try to hurt himself either. He hadn't realised how bad it was.

"No, he's a good guy," Nagi grimaced. "I even like him. But he's not Schuldig."

"That's a good thing, Nagi," Crawford told him. "I knew taking you out of school was a mistake. I'm sure if you'd made some friends you'd be happier here."

Nagi shook his head. "You don't get it. I don't want to be happy here. If I'd made an effort, I probably could have made some friends. But I don't want any friends. I want Schwarz."

"There's no easy way to fix this, Nagi. You just have to let go."

Nagi gave a bitter laugh. "It wasn't all that long ago I was giving similar advice to you." He stood up. "I'm going to get dressed," he announced, sweeping out of the small room.

Crawford leant against the cistern. He'd ask Michael's advice, that's what he'd do. Damn. He was late for his date, but he didn't want to leave Nagi alone in the apartment. If the boy took it into his head to try to off himself again, Crawford might not be able to get back again.

He tried Michael's apartment. No reply, Michael had already left. Still, he tried another three times, just in case. Michael didn't have a mobile (cell) phone, so Crawford tried the restaurant they'd planned to go to. Michael hadn't arrived there, so presumably he was waiting outside the park, where they'd planned to meet. As Crawford stood over the phone trying to decide on the best course of action, a crash from Nagi's room pushed all thoughts of Michael from his head.

* * *

Nagi sat down in front of the computer perhaps a little more violently than necessary. The chair shuddered. He randomly selected a webpage from his favourite list, and found himself back at the hotel chatroom. Logging in under the same name as before he was contacted almost immediately Bombay Nights

Apprehensive, but determined to find out who it was for certain this time, he started the conversation himself.

Prodigy: _I used to live in __Tokyo__. I'm Japanese._

Bombay Nights: _Really?_

Bombay Nights: _Where about?_

Prodigy: _All over, we moved a lot._

Bombay Nights: _We?_

Prodigy: _The guys I lived with. There were four of us, I was the only one from Japan_.

If it really were Omi, he'd be feeling like Nagi had a few nights ago. Nagi was determined to drop a few more hints. Bombay Nights' reaction would tell him what he needed to know, from the questions he asked to the time taken to reply.

Prodigy_: I moved to __America__ with one of them, who is American. How old are you?_

Bombay Nights: _17. You?_

Prodigy: _Sixteen. Do you have a job?_

Nagi waited. Almost five minutes went by. Eventually:

Bombay Nights: _Sorry, my connection's on the fritz._

_Liar_, thought Nagi.

Bombay Nights: _I sell flowers. From a van, hence the poor connection. But I used to live in a flower shop._

Prodigy: _Kitty in the House?_

He'd pushed it too far. Oh, there was no doubt that it was Omi now, but he'd been too overt. 

~ Bombay Nights has logged off. ~

Nagi swore at the screen. His anger pulsed in waves of kinetic energy, and the computer slammed into the wall. Crawford flung open the door. Nagi stared at the shattered screen and smashed drives.

"Shit, Nagi!" Crawford stared at him. "What now?"

Nagi glowered at him, silent.

"If you want another computer you're buying it out of your own money. I know you're going through a hard time, but you should know how to control your anger by now!" Crawford snapped.

Magi folded his arms over his chest and still said nothing, eyes fixed at a point just over Crawford's heart.

"Fine, sulk if you want. Throw tantrums. Do what you like. None of it's going to change things, you know that? No matter what you say or do, things can't go back to how they were."

Nagi stood up abruptly and stalked out of the room. Crawford found himself jogging to catch up. "Where are you going?" he snarled. Nagi ignored him and reached for the door. Crawford put on a burst of speed and set himself in Nagi's way. Without a word, without a warning, Nagi shoved him away with one telekinetic blast and fled down the stairs into the night.

* * *

It was cold. Oh, spring had come to New York, but it was still late at night and Nagi regretted a lack of coat. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared into shop windows. It hadn't occurred to him to bring any money, either. He was cold, and hungry, and bored, and he desperately needed to use the bathroom. 

But he couldn't go back. He couldn't put his finger on why, but he knew that now wasn't the time. Crawford would still be angry. The letter from Farfarello would still be on his desk. The computer would still be in pieces.

"Nagi?" A deep voice broke him out of his reverie and he spun around to see Michael. It took all of his willpower not to fling the young man away from him, despite his words to Crawford that he liked Michael and wouldn't hurt him. "Are you okay?"

Nagi shrugged. "What are you doing here?" he asked before Michael had the chance to ask him the same question.

"Brad and I had a date, but he never turned up. I live just up there. What about you?" Michael looked crushed. Nagi felt guilty, he'd been the reason the nice man had been stood up.

After great consideration, Nagi answered Michael's question with "Can I use your bathroom?"

* * *

Michael's flat was comfortably cluttered. The overstuffed sofa was piled with magazines and books, and the area around the television was a minefield of videos and DVDs. Nagi curled up in an armchair and drank the cocoa Michael had offered him. He could see out of the window, New York a city of lights and neon, all slowly disappearing as the night wore on until just before dawn it would be almost entirely dark.

"So, what's going on? Did you and Brad fall out?" Michael made a halfhearted attempt to clear the sofa and settled on the floor instead.

"Something like that," Nagi admitted. "It just all got blown out of proportion."

"Are you planning to go back?"

"Of course! I'm not going to run away or anything! I'm just mad at him." Nagi sighed. "Okay, I'm mad at me, and no amount of running away fixes that. I learnt that the hard way."

Michael didn't push that point, to Nagi's relief. He didn't want to have to go into detail about running away from his father, or Rosenkreuz, or Schwarz, or anything really. The present was hard enough to deal with, without contemplating the past either.

"I know it's trite, but is there anything I can do to help?"

"Unless you can be Schuldig, no." Nagi saw the quickly concealed hurt on Michael's face, and flinched. "It's not you. I like you. Crawford-san loves you. It's just, I miss how it was before. And there was always this possibility of going back to that, but now there isn't. As long as Crawford still had feelings for Schuldig, there was a chance we might go to Germany and pick him up again, then go and find Farfarello in Japan, and just, well, be as we were."

"Were you happy as you were? I know I shouldn't pry, but from Crawford's description I don't understand how you could be."

Nagi gave a dry mirthless laugh. "Nobody does. Just me. I was happy, no matter what the others might say. We all were. It's just, the others are happier now, and had been happier before."

"You were never happy until the four of you got together?" Michael asked incredulously. "I thought you'd only been together for a handful of years."

"Do not delve into my past. You won't like what you find," Nagi said ominously. "On the surface, everything here is better. I ought to be happy. I didn't always get on with Schuldig, and Farfarello frightened me. I hated school. I hated our boss. I hated most of what we did. And now I' m here, feeling quite congenial to our circumstances, all told, work, people, everything. But I'd still rather have it how it was." Nagi stared at the bottom of the mug, lumps of congealed cocoa clinging to the edges.

"Do you feel guilty for feeling like this?" Michael asked, perceptively.

Nagi squirmed. "Sometimes. Brad is so happy, and he'd like me to be happy as well, and I'm not living up to that. I feel bad for bringing him down, and bad for not being able to live up to his standards, and bad for pretty much everything."

"Bradley does have very high standards," Michael mused.

"Oh, I can meet them," Nagi assured him. "That's why we get on well most of the time. We're quite similar like that. If I'd wanted to slob around and never push myself, I'd have stayed with Schuldig." Nagi paused. "That's not fair on Schu," he admitted. "It's not that he lacked motivation, and he does work he just puts his effort into different areas than Brad or myself."

"Brad described him as a born anarchist," Michael said warmly. Nagi looked at him, surprised.

"You two talk about him?" he asked. 

"Sure. We've talked a lot about the four of you and your time in Japan, and naturally Schuldig is going to come up. I don't have a problem with that."

"He would," Nagi murmured. "Schuldig could get so jealous and vindictive."

"Do you want to stay over, or shall I call you a cab?" Michael asked gently. Nagi blinked at him, and glanced at a clock on the mantelpiece. One AM already? "You can sleep in the spare room, if you like."

"I should go back," Nagi admitted reluctantly. "I mean, Brad's probably not worried, per se, but he wouldn't like me imposing on you. I'm sorry to have kept you up this late."

"Don't worry about it. If I had met up with Brad we'd have been up much later," Michael waved Nagi's apologies away, then flushed as he heard himself speak. "I, I mean…" he stuttered, the blush showing through his milky cocoa coloured skin. Nagi thought it was quite fetching, and understood what Brad found so attractive in the flustered African-American, all sweet mannerisms and unconscious gestures.

Nagi stood up and hugged Michael, face pressed against the man's chest. "I can walk myself home," Nagi told him, releasing him from the abrupt embrace. "You've been a real help tonight. Don't be upset that Brad didn't turn up, I was being quite a handful tonight.  I'm sure he'll be very 'contrite'," Nagi grinned, and Michael went another shade darker as Nagi's implication sunk home. He leant forwards and gave Nagi a friendly hug, squeezing his shoulders.

"Are you sure? You're welcome to stay, really." Nagi nodded. "Well, at least let me call you a cab. It's too late to be wandering about on your own."

"No, I'll be fine. I'm a bodyguard, remember? I can hold my own in pretty much any situation, believe it or not." Nagi didn't give Michael a chance to object. He pulled away and, with a small wave, made his way through the front door and down onto the street.

It was dark, and cold, and quite lonely, but it was really quite a short walk back to the apartment. As he approached the building, Nagi craned his neck and saw that the lights in the top apartment were still on, to his dismay.

He wasn't ready to face Crawford yet. To explain his tantrum (he was calm enough to look at it objectively and admit that, yes, it had been a temper tantrum) and to apologise. He found a bench and sat down glumly.

Okay, life here was better. He had kept on the right side of the law, mostly, and no one was trying to kill him. He had fallen into regular eating and sleeping habits, a sure sign that he was more relaxed here than he'd ever been in Japan. He didn't have to attend school. He made an extremely comfortable amount of money, working only two days a week. He got on well with everyone he was required to get on with, primarily Brad, Michael and their new boss.

So what was bothering him? Was it really the splitting up of Schwarz? He chewed his lip. If he let go, if he embraced this new life, he'd be happier than he'd ever been in Schwarz.

Nagi stared at the ground. That was it, really. It was that simple. He wasn't happy because he didn't want to be happy. He'd had it drilled into him so many times that betrayal of the team meant death. And it felt like a betrayal, liking something better than Schwarz. Schwarz had been a huge part of his life, Schwarz, and Rosenkruez, and Estet.

"It's like when someone dies," a voice said beside him. "You don't want to move on because it feels like you're betraying their memory. You're scared of forgetting them. You're in mourning, Nagi, for something that never lived and hasn't died."

Nagi turned his head. Crawford sat down on the bench beside him, one arm resting along the back. Nagi sighed and leant into Brad's side, and the arm curled comfortably around him.

"You're right," Nagi admitted. "It's like when Tot died, but I accepted that much more easily. People die all the time, but part of me thought Schwarz would be forever."

"If Weiss hadn't interfered, it could well have been," Crawford reminded him.

"Exactly. So, how do you cope with this?" Nagi blinked, his throat suddenly tight. Schwarz was dead. It had seemed like such a living thing, sometimes, when Weiss would address one of them as 'Schwarz' or when Schuldig would bind them together. He blinked again, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

"You mourn," Brad said softly, "and you learn to go on."

"I know I know, life goes on," Nagi snapped, voice breaking on each word as he choked back more tears. "Life goes on, it gets better, et cetera et cetera."

Brad squeezed his shoulders slightly, and Nagi was suddenly reminded of Michael's earlier gesture. _Why did I hug him_? Nagi wondered vaguely. _That's very unlike me._ He buried his face in Brad's side, and started to cry in earnest. Schwarz was dead. The Nagi that had been a member of Schwarz was dead. There was a new Nagi now, living a new life. And this new Nagi wept, mourning the loss of everything he'd once known.

* * *

Nagi sat by the French window's of one of their boss's houses, in the suburbs, watching over a garden party with his laptop balanced on his knees. Crawford was wondering around, meeting and greeting, while Nagi sipped sangria (pretending every time Brad walked by that it was some non-alcoholic drink and failing miserably, judging by the look that was part amusement and part exasperation Brad wore each time he glanced over) and studied the performance of his surveillance cameras. And mucked about on the Internet, since not much was happening.

About a week had passed, and he was feeling much better. Each day got easier and easier as he struggled with the fact that Schwarz was really gone, and nothing would bring it back. He had begun to accept it, and spring days like these made it all the easier to convince himself that he really could be happier here.

He'd barely entered the chatroom when an all too familiar window popped up.

Bombay: _Hi, Nagi._

Prodigy: _Hello, Omi._


	6. Never the Twain Shall Meet

Never the Twain Shall Meet

_A/N: This starts precisely where the last one left off, since I couldn't think of a better beginning. So the first few paragraphs are identical to the last few of Windows. It's called 'Copy and Paste. ^_^_

Nagi sat by the French windows of one of their boss's houses, in the suburbs, watching over a garden party with his laptop balanced on his knees. Crawford was wondering around, meeting and greeting, while Nagi sipped sangria (pretending every time Brad walked by that it was some non-alcoholic drink and failing miserably, judging by the look that was part amusement and part exasperation Brad wore each time he glanced over) and studied the performance of his surveillance cameras. And mucked about on the Internet, since not much was happening.

About a week had passed, and he was feeling much better. Each day got easier and easier as he struggled with the fact that Schwarz was really gone, and nothing would bring it back. He had begun to accept it, and spring days like these made it all the easier to convince himself that he really could be happier here.

He'd barely entered the chatroom when an all too familiar window popped up.

Bombay: _Hi, Nagi_.

Prodigy: _Hello, Omi_.

Nagi smiled.

Bombay: …_Are you really in NYC?_

Prodigy: _Just outside at the moment._

Bombay: _What's it like?_

Oh, they were being so cautious. So much they couldn't say, so much neither was willing to say. It didn't help that it wasn't a particularly secure line, but that was merely an excuse. But then, it was, occasionally, nice to forget.

Prodigy: _Nice. American. Sunny._

Bombay: _sounds pretty good._

Prodigy: _So where are you? Flower shop?_

There was a long pause. Once more, Nagi realised he'd overstepped the tenuous, unspoken boundaries unconsciously agreed by the teens. Not only had he let on that Schwarz had known where Weiss lived, he had made a reference to a reality neither wanted to dwell on. The Koneko was too tied up with memories of hard fought battles and emotional pain. No wonder Omi didn't want to talk about it, so much bad stuff had happened…

Bombay: _No, we have a van at the moment. I thought I'd mentioned that._

… or possibly he just didn't want to give too much away about Weiss's new home.

Prodigy: _Van? Must get a bit crowded._

Bombay: _ It's just myself and Aya now. Ken and Yohji were here until very recently, though. Despite that, of course I was left doing all the chores, the cleaning and the watering and the washing and…_

If Nagi hadn't received the letter form Tot that morning, he would have just assumed that Ken and Yohji had been injured in the line of duty. Well, in a way they had, but it was the kind of injuries that don't show until they get serious. Would it be too tactless…

Prodigy:_ Poor Omi, Cinderella to the step-assassins._

Bombay: _Yohji and Ken, the ugly Stepsisters, are gone now, leaving Cinder-Omi to clean up their mess. Aya, the stepmother, is sulking._

Prodigy: _Does he have any other facial expression?_

Bombay: _Probably not._

Thousands of miles separated them, but Nagi could hear Omi's laughter. It was comforting and warm, and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Somewhere, in a tiny cramped van full of flowers, another young assassin was feeling it too.

"Nagi? What are you doing?"

Nagi jumped guiltily. In doing so, it was immediately apparent that whatever he had been doing, he shouldn't have. He'd been too engrossed to notice Brad's approach, which in itself was telling. There were few things that would make the teenager unaware of his surroundings.

"I was… on the internet," Nagi admitted, hoping the partial truth would be enough.

"I see. What exactly were you doing on the internet?" Brad asked, worrying creasing his brow. If Nagi had been using their boss's digital connection to download hentai yaoi sketches, probably drawn by equally bored teenagers on entirely different continents, it would show on the bill, and they could lose a very cushy job.

"Chat room," Nagi sighed. He couldn't lie to Brad. All he could do was hope Brad didn't ask him directly who he had been chatting to. He could say 'teenager' and 'Japanese' and even 'male', but 'Omi' or 'Bombay' probably wouldn't go down all that well.

Brad sighed. "Is it really that boring?" he asked gently, sitting next to Nagi's wooden lawn chair on the stone steps. "Look, Mr Smythe has a daughter around your age."

"She's two years younger," Nagi said scathingly. Why was that adults could never correctly estimate a teenager's age? Hell, why was he complaining? He got away with buying both child tickets and booze, depending on how he dressed and walked.

"Well, I'm sure she'd still appreciate some company. Anything showing up on the cameras?"

"Only what's supposed to. A lot of guests, waving wine glasses and wearing expensive suits." Nagi offered Brad a conciliatory grin. "There's only so much 'oh yes, my shares went up 500% and my daughter has a new $700,000 pony and my fourteenth car cost more than this house' a guy can take."

"Tell me about it," Brad grinned back, briefly. "I'd forgotten how deathly boring humanity can be, without someone around to divulge their secrets and make this sort of thing generally a bit more interesting." Nagi's smiled faltered, and Brad winced. "Sorry," he offered.

Nagi shook his head. "It just… surprises me, sometimes. When you think about him. You talk to Michael about him. It's so… accepting. I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that." Nagi closed his eyes and let the warm sun trace crimson and gold patterns on the inside of his eyelids.

"It doesn't matter if you can't," Brad said sincerely. He squeezed Nagi's shoulder in an almost fatherly fashion. Nagi smiled, but not because Brad had said anything particularly comforting or cheering. It was because Brad had changed. A few years ago, hell, a few months ago, he wouldn't have touched Nagi, not even to comfort him. Back in Japan, it probably wouldn't have even occurred to him to comfort Nagi. Things had changed and Nagi was finally able to see that it was for the better.

The laptop beeped.

Bombay: _Nagi? Are you still there?_

Brad read the message.

* * *

Nagi sat in his room while Brad paced up and down outside. There was a conspicuously empty space where his computer had once been, and the room felt considerably larger. Nagi didn't like it. The room was the same size as the average Tokyo apartment, and he was beginning to feel agoraphobic in here on his own. The computer had taken up over half the room, he belatedly realised.

Crawford hadn't said anything, not at first. It wasn't until the ride home that he'd told Nagi exactly what he thought of him. Nagi hadn't said a word, accepting each criticism as it came, knowing every insult to be well founded. The whole thing had sounded terribly fair, from the accusation to the punishment, but inwardly Nagi fumed.

So what if he'd been chatting to Weiss's best boy? So what if he'd mentioned they were just outside New York? Crawford had been encouraging him to make friends.

Even an angry Nagi had to admit that making friends with Omi probably hadn't been what Crawford had had in mind. And, since he'd quit school, he was grounded utterly. Crawford let him out for bathroom breaks once in a while but that was it. Nagi had actually resorted to reading a book. The paper felt funny in his hands and he longed for the words to stream across a screen in front of him, and to not have to bother with al this page turning business. Some part of him acknowledged the absurdity of this, but Nagi didn't like being forcibly separated from his digital world.

Outside, Brad paced. He didn't know what to do. Too much had changed. He had no idea how to punish Nagi. Part of him wasn't even certain why he was punishing Nagi.

Michael had dropped by earlier, surprising both of them. Brad had forgotten he'd given his boyfriend a key. There had been much awkwardness. Oh, not just because Brad had not only forgotten the fact he'd given Michael a key and stood him up _again_, but because he couldn't come up with a plausible reason for punishing Nagi. There was so much he couldn't say. Michael had left, eventually, probably under the impression Nagi was suffering child cruelty at the hands of his boyfriend. 

Brad's stomach tightened and hurt just thinking about it. He didn't want to lose Michael. He couldn't lose Michael. But he couldn't explain. It seemed so 'petty', forbidding Nagi to talk to someone who'd been an enemy in Japan, when he couldn't talk about being assassins and being psychic. His head hurt. A while ago, he'd contemplated telling Michael that he was a seer. Now, even that seemed ludicrous.

He found himself thinking of Schuldig. There had been no secrets then.

In three quick steps he was at the phone and dialling a number of a car pinned discretely beneath pizza places and their boss's mobile number and Nagi's final school report other miscellaneous scraps of paper. The phone rang, he distance making it sound tinny and cold. Finally, it was picked up.

Schuldig grunted something in German. Brad didn't have time to translate properly.

"Schuldig! I…" Brad stared at the receiver, dumbfounded. What exactly had he planned to say to his ex, once he got him on the phone? 'Hi, Nagi's chatting to Omi and I think my new boyfriend might break up with me for not being open enough?'

"If he's that intolerant, it's not worth it," Schuldig chuckled.

Brad flushed. "It's none of your business," he snapped.

"So why did you call? It's God knows what hour and I was comfortably asleep until you called me to say nothing." Schuldig's tone was faintly teasing, faintly mocking, faintly pissed, but overall resigned.

"I just wondered how you were. You haven't sent a car for a long time," Brad said stiffly.

"Yeah right. What was that about Nagi? It's hard to scan over a phone line."

"I caught him chatting to Omi on the Internet."

"So?"

Brad sighed. "I should have known better than to expect you to understand the ramifications of his actions," he snarled, about to hang up.

"Seriously, so?" Schuldig sounded equally exasperated. "They're just teenagers. Let them play out their little emotional melodrama and have their fun. Who's it harming? You're in America. Weiss are in Japan. It's over."

"I know," Brad told him shortly. "It's a matter of principle. We don't befriend the enemy. We never know when we might have to return."

There was silence from the telepath on the other end of the line, and Brad heard a sleepy voice asking in German who was calling at this 'verdammt' hour.

"We're not going back, Brad," Schuldig said softly. "Why are you so bothered? We're not going back."

There was a long pause as Brad let this sink in. He'd known, for a long time, and he'd accepted it, but he'd never really seen how it applied to them, to their lives. No wonder Michael had thought it sounded petty when he'd tried to explain Nagi's misdemeanour to him, it was petty.

"So, who's with you?" Brad said eventually, genuinely curious.

"Sven," Schuldig said proudly. "Technically my co-star, but you know how these things happen."

Brad chuckled. "Not personally, no," he smirked.

"Ah, you say that now," Schuldig leered vocally down the phone. "You should see him. 6ft 8 of pure Swedish muscle. Like a Nazi poster boy but sweet as sweet. His hair's paler than Farf's, and it's natural. So, who's Michael?"

"A guy," Brad said enigmatically. "I really ought to let you get back to Sven…"

"Not yet," Schuldig barked. "I want details, and you know it. You think I don't have rights as an ex to keep tabs on your every romantic overture." There was a grunt from behind him, and Brad listening to Schuldig scolding his lover in German for getting annoyed. Brad couldn't blame Sven for resenting the idea that Schuldig was having a cosy little chat with his ex.

"Michael," Brad mused once Schuldig had turned his attention back to the older man, "Michael is African-American and wears glasses. He takes his coffee the same way as I do. He gets on well with Nagi and we have a lot in common. He's a very nice guy, over all."

Schuldig made a muffled sound that left Brad frowning, but spoke before the American could ask any questions. "So, he's hot as hell, black as night and sweet as an angel's kisses?" Schuldig teased. "But you're keeping, ungh, secrets?"

"It's not something you can exactly explain," Brad said coolly.

"Sure it, nnnngh, is," Schuldig said breezily. "I mean, you've got to have some secrets to keep it, argmmm, interesting…" Schuldig was panting now. "Just pick and cho- ouurrh –ose."

"I'm sure," Brad said dryly. "Would it perhaps be convenient if I hung up now?"

"Ja-aaarrgh-aaa," Schuldig gasped. There were several bangs, then a drawn out dial tone as Schuldig finally managed to hit the cradle and hang up.

There was a quiet noise behind Brad. He spun around, ready to yell at Nagi for leaving his room, and found himself staring into a pair of huge brown eyes.

"Michael," he murmured.

"What can't you explain?" The young man asked softly, sadly. "Is it something to do with Nagi?"

Brad sighed, taking off his glasses and polishing them. "That's just part of it," he said. "However, I have come around to agree with you, I'm being petty. I shouldn't be punishing Nagi."

Michael frowned slightly. "Actually, I think you should," he said with a hint of trepidation. Brad put his glasses pack on and pushed them up his nose. The soft brown face came back into focus. "He's not here."

"What?" Brad was floored.

"When I saw you were on the phone I went to find him, but he's not in his room, or anywhere else in the apartment." Michael looked almost apologetic. "He struck me as the sort of boy to concede to a punishment, even an unjust one."

Brad shook his head wryly, making for the front door. He trusted Michael when the man said Nagi wasn't in the apartment, and he intended to start looking for him immediately. "You should have seen his reaction when I forbade him to see a certain girl. It was justified," he added hastily, "she worked for our boss's son, and I wanted to discourage him from dating fellow workmates. Besides, she was insane."

"Actually insane?" Michael asked curiously, following Brad out of the apartment and into the plush lift.

"Certifiably. She's in prison at the moment, with an old rival, who is also likely to be insane. I think Nagi's a bit put out, as we received a letter from her claiming she finally understood what Nagi saw in her, now she could see it in someone else. To be honest, that was something even I never saw coming." Brad leant on the railing and stared up at eh mirrored ceiling. He could feel the future, almost tangible, about to alter irrevocably, and knew that whatever was about to happen was out of his control.

"Any reason you should have?" Michael asked, leaning against him. Brad smiled at the warmth of another body against his. It had been so long since touch had been anything other than sexual, but Michael was a tactile person. It had taken Brad a while to get used to it, but it was pleasant and reassuring. He leant against him in return.

"Yes," Brad admitted quietly. "The lift's about to jam," he added.

There was a clunk and a whirr and a slow purring, so that the final silence seemed quite anticlimactic.

"I don't care if you can't explain," Michael said slowly, "I think I'd like you to try."

* * *

Nagi dropped off of his ceiling. He hadn't expected that to work, but Michael had arrived and Brad had taken Michael at his word so willingly. The teen actually felt guilty for duping the older men, who were now obviously concerned for him. Well, Michael was concerned. Brad was probably pissed.

Nagi waited for a quarter of an hour before trotting down the stairs. There were a lot of stairs, but the lift was taking so long to come when he pressed the button he gave up, and just hoped he wouldn't run into Brad and Michael on their way back up.

Once outside all sensations of guilt melted into the sunshine. It felt so good to be free! Nagi smiled as he wandered along, purposely avoiding all cyber cafés and libraries with Internet access. They'd check there first. His smile gave way to a thoughtful frown as he tried to second guess the two adults, before realising it was a futile exercise. Brad would find him no matter where he went.

A light breeze ruffled his hair and he looked up to see white clouds scudding across the sky as the wind picked up. It made Nagi wish he'd brought a jacket. After a while it started to get really cold, and he ducked into a small shop that looked vaguely interesting. As he wandered amongst the hardware and software it occurred to him that this would be an obvious place for Brad to look, but he didn't care.

He spotted a laptop with mobile Internet connection, and, on a whim, bought it. It was nice to have a bit of cash to splash around occasionally, and a new machine was always fun. If he got bored he could always take it apart and make it intrinsically better. That was what Nagi liked about machines. No matter how bad, no matter how good, they could always be improved.

Nagi paid for his purchase, ignoring the incredulous look on the clerks face, and asked if he could leave the box there. There was a bit of confusion, and eventually Nagi just walked out, trailing cables and what-have-you, to find a bench somewhere. He voided Central Park. It was too obvious. Eventually, in a small bookshop cum café, surrounded by silent men and giggling girls, Nagi deposited the laptop on a chintzy round table and started to set it up.

He got through two hot chocolates, a coffee, a cup of tea and three Danish pastries by the time he was done. He felt smug in the knowledge that it would have taken anyone else the better part of a day to do. A cute waitress in a short skirt offered him another drink and admired the laptop for being 'shiny'. Nagi felt vaguely contemptuous of her, but not as much as he would have done before, when he lived in Japan. Brad wasn't the only one who had changed.

Naturally, Nagi logged into the same chat room as before. He located Omi, who was lurking in several forums as once, obviously waiting for him.

Prodigy: _Hi_

Bombay: _oh god, we need to talk_.

Four words that scared the shit out of any self-respecting person, male or female. Harbingers of doom, all four of them. Nagi's stomach curled and he pushed his fresh cup of coffee away.

Bombay: _Do you remember what I said about Ken and Yohji being 'away' and it just being Aya and myself?_

Even typed, his urgency was obvious.

Bombay: _Aya saw what I was doing. Talking to you._

Prodigy: _Same here. Crawford threw a fit. He's going to throw another when he finds me._

Bombay_: Aya said he loves me._

Prodigy: _Huh. Crawford didn't say that._

Nagi felt a sudden, flaring jealousy. It was irrational, but he didn't care. Aya was there. Aya was with Omi. There was no way to compete. Suddenly, he felt angry with Brad. How dare he drag Nagi all the way out here? Nagi's anger manifested itself in a wave of rattling teacups and exploding scones.

Some customers screamed, some laughed, one fainted. The cute waitress ran out, crying. Nagi dragged his eyes away from the screen to stare at the havoc he was causing. A beep brought his attention back again, though, and he forgot the chaotic café as he stared at the simple pixels.

Bombay: _How do I tell him no?_

Nagi took a deep breath. It wasn't over yet, not by a long shot, but Omi didn't want Aya. It was a start. The problem was, Aya was an incredibly attractive man. He'd win Omi over, no doubt. Unless Omi didn't swing that way. But he did, didn't he? Schuldig had said… had hinted…

Prodigy: _If you don't swing that way, he ought to accept it._

Bombay: _But he knows I do._

"Yes!" Nagi gave a triumphant yelp, then blushed. He stared over the top of his laptop, expecting to see other patrons giving him odd looks. There were no other patrons.

Nagi's heart fell. He had to get out of here, before his mere presence became suspicious. He bundled up the laptop and grabbed a few pastries and cakes as he scooted out of the door and ducked into a nearby alley to continue his conversation. It was damp and full of dirty cardboard boxes, but Nagi cleared himself a space and squatted down, oddly at home. Alleys were the same in every city, and once you'd lived on the streets you could feel at home in the alleys whenever, wherever.

Chewing on a hot cross bun, Nagi opened the laptop again and studied what Omi had written.

Bombay: I value his friendship and I don't want things to be awkward, but I'm just not attracted to him.

Bombay: He's a really great guy, but this is all very sudden.

Nagi considered for a moment.

Prodigy: _Are you even legal yet?_

Bombay: _Not quite, but he say it's not about the physical. He said he just wanted me to know, and he didn't need any kind of reply_.

Prodigy: _But he wanted one, didn't he?_

Bombay: _I could see it. He's been hurt before, I think, and he just wants me to say yes and be there for him. I can't, Nagi, not like that._

Prodigy: _I know. It's okay._

Nagi ached. He wanted to be there, to hold Omi and tell him, face to face, that everything was going to be just fine. But he couldn't say it, couldn't type it. Omi had enough to deal with without worrying that his past nemesis wanted to cuddle him and caress him and do many other things to him that were making sitting cross-legged in tight jeans a tad uncomfortable.

Bombay: I _don't know how long I can stay here. Close quarters and all that._

Prodigy: _I don't know what to say. If you feel like coming to __America__, you're more than welcome_.

Bombay: _Haha__. Thanks, Nagi, but it'll take more than that to cheer me up._

Prodigy: _Haha__? I wasn't joking_.

Nagi stared at what he had just typed. Was that too intense? Would Omi take it the wrong way?

Bombay: _I could never take you up on the offer, you know that._

Prodigy: _Why not?_

On the other side of the Pacific Omi stared at the screen. There had to be some hidden meaning. This was Nagi. The kid who'd tried to kill him several times. Yet, here he was, treating him like a trusted confidant. Omi had checked out the carrier signal, and yes, Nagi was in America, but that wasn't to say he wouldn't come back to Japan. It finally sank in, the enormity of what he was doing. He'd told Nagi about the van. He'd told Nagi about Aya. He'd mentioned Weiss's real names, he practically admitted that they'd lived at the Koneko and now he was seriously considering running away to the USA.

Prodigy: _Still there?_

Bombay: _Barely._

Prodigy: _Is there anything I can do to help?_

Omi smiled, a grim, humourless smile born of too little childhood and too much suffering. Cynicism threatened to swallow the last of his humanity, and if he caved he'd be like Nagi. Amoral, bitter and resentful.

But then, if that was Nagi, why was he offering to help?

Bombay: _I don't think so. I have a sort of plan. It involves lots of running away and pretending this never happened_.

Prodigy: _Like most of Weiss's plans then? Sorry, bitchy. But you guys never seemed to confront anything_.

Bombay: _So why are you in __America__?_

Prodigy: _Touché._

Bombay: _I'm going to live with my grandfather_.

Prodigy: _Is that wise? Considering the rest of your family…_

Bombay: _He's safe_.

Prodigy: _Safe?_

Bombay: _He hasn't killed anyone for kicks_.

Prodigy: _That's definitely a good start._

Nagi stared at the screen. There was enough evidence on it to incriminate both of them, and in the right lawyer's hands, get them both put away for life, as well as bringing down Kritiker and Estet. Well, not Estet. They'd just slaughter any justice system that stood in their way.

His feelings for Omi were, well, confused. He didn't believe in long distance relationships, in fact, he didn't really believe in relationships at all. Until Michael, he had thought love and couples were things only seen on TV. Brad's actions around Michael made him doubt that, for the first time.

Brad and Michael… why hadn't they found him yet? It had been almost three hours, Nagi realised with a start.

Prodigy_: I really ought to go back to the apartment. I think something must have happened to Crawford._

Bombay: _Wouldn't it be safer not to?_

Prodigy: _If he's in trouble, I hope to dispel some of his anger by helping him out of it. Plus he's probably with Michael, who's been guilting him about punishing me in the first place._

Bombay: _You think he's in trouble?_

Prodigy: _It's been hours. He would have found me by now if he wasn't._

Bombay: _true. I ought to go as well, Aya's back._

Prodigy. _Shit. Good luck_

Bombay: _You too._

And with that it was over. No one said 'good bye', or 'see you later', just 'good luck'. It was fitting in its way. Nagi sighed and shut down the laptop. As an after thought, on his way back to the apartment he bought a bag to carry the laptop in. Not only were his arms aching, but if Brad didn't see it the chance of him confiscating it was minutely smaller.

Nagi sat in the empty apartment and waited for Brad to get back. He'd had to take the stairs because the lift was stuck a he when he left the flat, but it never occurred to him that no one would have reported the problem by now. After a while he fell asleep, so when the phone rang he didn't answer.

* * *

"Damn," Brad swore. "He's there, but he's not picking up."

"Asleep?" Michael asked. "As you foresaw?"

"Almost certainly."

"Damn."


	7. All the Small Things

**All the Small Things **

_Just to confuse the series timeline even more, this one takes place almost entirely during NtTSM. It's probably the sappiest so far, and it will probably only appeal to those who've read the others in this series, and it's entirely Brad and Michael talking. That's it. I like to think it explores Brad's character quite a bit, but I'm getting far too attached to Michael. He's just a nice guy who really shouldn't be getting involved with a remorseless killer who plotted for world domination. Hopefully by the end of this you'll be as enamoured of him as I am, but if not, you might as well skip this fic and wait a bit. There'll be plenty of Nagi angst in the next fic, and the one after that, and Michael slips back into his usual supporting character role._

"…that was something even I never saw coming." Brad leant on the railing and stared up at the mirrored ceiling. He could feel the future, almost tangible, about to alter irrevocably, and knew that whatever was about to happen was out of his control.

"Any reason you should have?" Michael asked, leaning against him. Brad smiled at the warmth of another body against his. It had been so long since touch had been anything other than sexual, but Michael was a tactile person. It had taken Brad a while to get used to it, but it was pleasant and reassuring. He leant against him in return.

"Yes," Brad admitted quietly. "The lift's about to jam," he added.

There was a clunk and a whirr and a slow purring, so that the final silence seemed quite anticlimactic.

"I don't care if you can't explain," Michael said slowly, "I think I'd like you to try." He moved away from Brad, just slightly. In a normal situation, Brad wouldn't even have noticed, but now he felt a gulf opening between them, just in those few centimeters.

Brad stared at the ceiling of the lift. "I can… I can see the future."

"What, all of it?" Michael said, a trace of skepticism in his voice despite Brad's accurate prediction of the lift malfunction.

"Well, some of it," Brad sighed. "It's mostly short term."

"So if you went to Las Vegas…"

"I'd walk away a billionaire," Brad said smugly.

Michael stared at him. "And did you?"

Brad frowned. "Did I what?"

"Go to Vegas and use your talent to make your fortune?"

"No," Brad said near-scornfully, partly because he hadn't, but mostly because he knew it was what Michael wanted to hear.

"Why not?" Michael persisted.

Brad raised an eyebrow. "Can you see me in Las Vegas?" he pointed out.

"Well," Michael almost smiled, "only in a James Bond capacity. But that isn't a reason, and you know it. Why don't you play the stoc… Oh."

Brad didn't blush, but a small frown line appeared between his eyebrows. "I would have been an idiot not to," he pointed out. "If you have a talent, it's worth using."

"You think of it like being able to run fast, or shoot well," Michael said, tone mildly accusatory. "It's not, you know. It's more like cheating in a card game. It's not something practice can improve on. Some people are born talented, but other people can work to reach the same levels. I could never do what you do."

Brad sighed. "I left," he pointed out.

"Yes, you did, but not out of any pang of conscience," Michel said coolly. "You quit because you were bored."

"No," Brad objected, "I quit because I don't like people." Michael raised an eyebrow. "Well, I don't," Brad muttered petulantly. "I find the average person very tiresome and predictable."

Michael snorted.

"Not just because of that," Brad sighed. "You've heard me speaking to Schuldig, haven't you? Once you've met him everyone else just seems so mundane. Nagi's, well, different, too. He's a challenge."

"What am I?" Michael asked.

Brad opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

"What am I, Brad? I'm not a challenge. I'm not extraordinary or bizarre. I'm no different from anyone else you worked with. I'm not different from the average man in this city, am I? And don't say anything about being different because you love me, because that's clichéd shit."

"You brought me a card, and you remembered what music I like. You went to the effort of finding out where I live and you came to see me. You invited me to dinner," Brad listed. "It's not that you're different from the billions of other people in this world, you're different from those I've known."

"Would you have even noticed my existence if I hadn't noticed yours?" Michael asked, voice still chilly.

"Probably not," Brad said candidly. "But you're one of the few people who has noticed me, in any kind of a social manner. Most people notice me for what I do for a living. They notice me as a bodyguard."

"You weren't a bodyguard when we worked together," Michael pointed out. "You caught the eye of a lot of people in 'a social manner'."

Brad sighed and shook his head. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, turning to lean on the handrail with one hand and rest his head against the mirrored wall of the lift. Michael just stood there, watching him, hands tucked neatly in the small of his back.

"You don't like people," Michael sighed. "I suppose it really is that simple, and I ought to be flattered that you made an exception for me. Except… except I can't help but wonder when you'll realise that I'm a person, and you don't like me."

"They're all so small," Brad swallowed. "They live such small lives and do such small things and they never even _think_ that there's anything beyond it. War and death is something you see on the news. Everything is small and neat and these tiny little problems get completely blown out of proportion." He turned to stare at Michael, eyes wide and bloodshot. "They don't know. I almost plunged the world into chaos and fear with the intention of arising from the anarchy as the ruler of the world. Our plans were so _big_, and most people wouldn't even believe that it was possible." He frowned at Michael. "You don't," he said dully, "you think I'm insane."

"You can see the future," Michael pointed out. "Suddenly conventional beliefs go out the window. Did you really try to take over the world? Am I dating a megalomaniac?"

"More of an obsessive compulsive," Brad said with a tired grin. "It's all just so unorganised. I could predict earthquakes and stop terrorist attacks and slap certain rulers of certain countries. I know I could do it. I could sort out the economy and politics and war. With a united world, it's possible."

"You sound like you don't believe what you're saying," Michael told him.

"I believed we were invincible," Brad shook his head. "We were dumped in the sea by a group of Japanese no-ones. One of who, coincidentally, is the boy Nagi has taken a shine to online. When we failed and everything fell apart, I didn't know what to do. People started hunting us. Farfarello got married. Nagi joined our old enemies as a way of keeping an eye on those who were hunting Schuldig and myself. When they died Schuldig went back to his home country, and Nagi and I were just… lost. The others hadn't really cared; they were in it for the darkness and chaos and anarchy, Nagi and I were in it for the order and the organisation. Without that to work towards, what were we to do?"

"So you came to American and joined the hordes of no ones and started to create small worlds for yourselves," Michael said. "And I'm part of your small world, another no one to help you get used to this nothingness."

"You're the reason I'm still here," Brad said. "You're the reason I'm satisfied with having a small world and a small life. Without you I'd just be looking for another way to do something big, to prove to myself that there is a bigger world."

"Where did your ambition go?" Michael asked, honestly curious.

"I don't know," Brad sighed, half-sitting on the handrail. "I just don't have that drive any more. Even if I had the same opportunity, I wouldn't take it now."

"Why did you do it? To organise the world? That's not a reason, not really. It's a dream, but not even you could accomplish it."

"Oh, don't tell me," Brad said, irritated, "that I did it to be loved. That I did it because I have issues with my father and I want people to look up to me and respect me and worship me." He spoke with heavy sarcasm, folding his arms across his chest. "Why would I do that?"

"I didn't say a word," Michael said, a hand half-covering his mouth. Brad had a suspicion that Michael was stifling a smile behind that slim milk chocolate hand. "You didn't even answer my question. I'm not saying you do have issues with your father, or you just want to be loved, but don't you find it a bit odd that since we started going out you lost that desire for power?"

Brad stared at him. "It's different. You know that," he added sulkily. "It didn't just all stop suddenly. Schuldig loved me, and that didn't make me want to settle down in some nuclear family mould."

"You already pointed out he was far from normal," Michael said shrewdly. "Look, I'm not going to pass judgment on what goes on in your head. I'm not a shrink. I just want to know where I stand with you. You made it sound like you'd do anything to escape this life and go back to your super villain comic book life. I can't blame you. But then you say you've lost that ambition. You sound like you're deeply unhappy, but you can't be bothered to do anything about it. I don't know if I want to be a part of that."

Brad's jaw dropped. "No," he murmured. "Please, are you… No?"

Michael sighed. "I don't understand you. I don't even know you! I know how you like your coffee, and which suits you buy, and what music you listen to. That's great, for the first few dates. I don't know whether you have a middle name, or what your parents are like, or, well anything."

"My middle name would probably be Junior, and I'm an orphan. My mother died when I was young, and my father died when I was in my late teens," Brad said tonelessly.

"A moment ago you were almost begging me not to break up with you, now you sound like a robot," Michael said in exasperation. "Okay, I feel I know you a bit better know, but only because I forced the issue. I don't want to do that. I want you to enjoy being with me and feel able to talk to me. Sometimes I wonder if you do, or whether I'm just convenient."

"I do enjoy being with you," Brad said in a strangled voice. "I'm not a highly emotional person. You wouldn't believe how much you've changed me. Just being around you… I don't want a big world any more. I want you. I want to be a small person in a small world and enjoy the small things in life. I never enjoyed sunsets or snow or cups of coffee before. I never enjoyed just sitting with someone in silence, or curling up on a couch and just being next to each other."

Michael looked at him. "You can see the future, but you can't see what's right in front of you," he murmured. "Have you ever thought ahead, for us? Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we moved in together, and got a house, and a pet, and grew old together? I have. I've dreamed about what it's going to be like. You can see what's going to happen to us. Tell me."

"I don't know," Brad shook his head, pressing back against the wall. "I can't see that, and I don't want to."

"I'm not asking you to try and see all of that," Michael said, moving closer, reaching out to grab the railing with both hands, one on either side of Brad. "I don't know how far you can see, maybe you can tell how long we'll be in here, maybe you know what we'll have for dinner tonight, or maybe you only know what I'm going to ask you. Have you ever thought about where we're going?"

"No," Brad murmured. Michael could see fear in his eyes. Brad didn't know how he was going to react to that.

"You're scared of the future," Michael spoke softly, moving even closer to Brad, pressing against the length of his body. "You're like any normal person." He leant in and kissed Brad gently on the lips. "I love you."

"I… I didn't know you were going to say that," Brad said.

"I know. I'm not putting any pressure on you. I don't want you to feel you have to think about our future, or say you love me, or do anything at all, really." Michael stroked his cheek and rested his head on Brad's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. "I just wanted you to know. It's another small thing you can learn to enjoy."

Brad reached around carefully and held Michael tightly to his chest. "I enjoy you," he said into Michael's ear. "I enjoy everything about you, about having you around and talking to you and just being a normal person in a normal relationship."

"That's good," Michael murmured sleepily. His weight on Brad increased slightly. "Do you know how long it will be before we get out of here?"

"A while yet," Brad sighed. "Nagi's going to come home and go to sleep with no idea where we are."

"Ah bugger," Michael said, with feeling.

Brad chuckled. "I'm sorry. We could try hitting the walls and calling for help."

"Do you know how long it will be before we get out?" Michael asked again.

"At least an hour," Brad sighed.

Michael pulled away with a wicked grin. "Oh good," he leered.

Brad returned the look, and his nimble fingers started to work on the buttons of Michael's shirt.

* * *

As they sat on the floor of the lift, a tangle of warm limbs and slick flesh. Michael nibbled Brad's shoulder teasingly. Brad tangled his fingers in Michael's hair, enjoying another small moment.

"How long before Nagi gets back?" Michael asked lazily.

Brad frowned. "I… can't tell. Oh shit, that means he's already back."

"So call him, before he drops off to sleep," Michael insisted, holding up Brad's phone, which had fallen on the floor during their lovemaking. Brad did as requested, but the scowl on his face told Michael it was already too late.

"Damn," Brad swore. "He's there, but he's not picking up."

"Asleep?" Michael asked. "As you foresaw?"

"Almost certainly."

"Damn."

They stared at each other for a while. "I don't suppose you know the number of anyone else in the building?" Michael asked hopelessly. Brad shook his head. "Do you think we should call the police?"

"I don't think they'd be particularly impressed," Brad sighed.

"It's been hours," Michael pointed out. "I'm getting really thirsty."

"How about I call in a little while?" Brad suggested, curling closer to Michael. "I don't think I want to be rescued right now."

"Oh, me neither," Michael grinned, catlike in his satisfaction.


	8. Losing Ground

Losing ground 

_A/N: Well, here's a little plot thread that will keep me entertained for the next few fics. It's nice to have something tying this series together a bit, give it a bit of forward drive. I keep finding myself writing one chapter, then starting the next, but stopping after a few paragraphs. Then I'll come back to it, finished that chapter, and write the first few chapters of the next. So, really, all in all I'm barely ahead of you guys, in terms of knowing what's going to happen!_

The arguments were getting slowly more frequent. They tired to stay calm while Michael was around, which was most of the time now, but recently he seemed more willing to take Brad's side. Nagi didn't know what had happened while he was running around the city, but Michael seemed to know a bit more about their past with Weiss, in a vague kind of way. Nagi resented that.

Nagi would stay up into the early morning, just to chat to Omi. The time difference was killing him, and that day he had fallen asleep at work. Their boss hadn't noticed, but Brad had. Nagi switched to emailing Omi regularly, but the damage had been done. Even Michael had joined in when Brad told him what had happened. With a yell, Nagi had stormed out, laptop safely tucked under his arm, using his power to slam the door shut as hard as he could.

He didn't know quite what he planned to do. Part of him, a furiously hot part of him, wanted to run away. He could go and live with Omi in Japan, or Schuldig in Germany, or simply find his own place somewhere in America. He could create the documents easily enough, and he had no qualms about transferring money into his bank account from pretty much anywhere.

Instead, he found himself at the station, purchasing a ticket. He realised that he didn't want to go far, not really, just enough to annoy Brad and hopefully make him worry a bit. He'd find a cheap motel and look around the North of the state, and then meander back to the apartment again in a few days. Brad would hardly welcome him back with open arms, but Nagi felt if he proved he could survive on his own then perhaps Brad wouldn't take his presence so much for granted. On the other hand, now that Brad had Michael perhaps he didn't even need Nagi, the thought of which left him with a nervous sickness in his stomach as the train pulled into the station.

He took a carriage at the back of the train, which was empty when he sat down. He switched on his laptop and found an email from Omi waiting for him. His anger slipped away and a smile stretched his face. Leaning back in the seat, which emitted a puff of mildew smelling air, he started to read. He smiled, feeling the tension lift from his shoulders. Everything was better when Omi was there. Even if he wasn't, you know, _there_.

"Oi, chink," a voice called. 

Nagi sighed, closing the laptop. "Well," he said to himself, "I suppose it's better than 'nigger'."

"What did you say?" the towering African-American growled.

Nagi blinked. "Last guy who decided to throw racial slurs at me," he said hurriedly, "didn't know the difference."

The guy frowned. "You know," he said softly, "it's your people that cause all the trouble for me and my bros."

Nagi's mind was doing cartwheels. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to surreptitiously slip his laptop back into his bag. Some other guys had wandered into the carriage too, some black, some white.

"Yakuza," the guy grunted simply.

Nagi was impressed, despite himself. "Most people don't know the difference between Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai… even Indian, sometimes."

"Look, chink," one of the other guys said, letting Nagi realise that he'd been the first to talk, "just give us the laptop."

"Um, no," Nagi said firmly. "And please don't call me that."

"Oh give it a break," the guy laughed. "Chink, chink, chink, chink, chink!"

"So mature," the African-American said dryly. He and Nagi exchanged a look and Nagi smiled. It was a mistake. "You laughing at something, chink?"

"N-no," Nagi stuttered.

"Look, chink, we're going to beat your head in," one of the guys said, leaning over him threateningly. "It don't matter what the reason is, whether we want your money, whether we hate your race, or whether we're just bored. You just gonna have to lie down and take it like a man."

Nagi felt his temper snap. "Oh, really?" he snarled, standing up. "Well then, perhaps I ought to give you a few more reasons, so everyone in your little gang can pick one. Don't want anyone to feel left out. Maybe you could draw them from a hat? Let's see… I'm not American, I'm not white, I'm gay, I'm a techno-geek, I have no parents, my guardian has a boyfriend, I'm short for my age, I'm-"

It occurred to Nagi that perhaps he had pushed them too far. He might have had a chance to run, otherwise, but he couldn't fight. Crawford had drilled that into his head too many times. Even as he felt his power boiling up inside of him, he forced it down again, and took the punches without a sound.

* * *

"Nagi's been gone for several hours now," Michael worried.

"Of course he has," Brad dismissed him. They were in the bath together, on Michael's urging. Michael had persuaded him to buy the large scallop shaped tub. Brad had since wondered if it had been the wisest decision, as he saw Nagi looking at it with loathing every time he passed it. Nagi would claim it was excessively frivolous, but Brad worried he was jealous that Michael seemed to be integrating himself into their lives more and more.

"Yes, but…"

"Each time he goes off in a tantrum, he has to stay out just a bit longer than the time before, just to make us worry," Brad explained. "He won't come back until he's certain we're worried."

"So if he doesn't come back 'til tomorrow, you won't so much as blink?" Michael said sceptically. "This is New York, not Tokyo."

"Nagi can take care of himself," Brad reassured him. "Remember?"

"If I were his father I'd be having kittens by now," Michael shook his head. Brad reached over and pulled him through the water to rest against his chest. Michael propped himself up on the side of the bath, almost slipping in the hot water. Brad sighed when he saw his love was frowning.

"I'm not Nagi's father," Brad reminded him. Michael's frown deepened. Damn. "Look, I know Nagi. Trust me. He can look after himself. He walks out to spite me. He's done the same before, back in Japan, especially in the weeks following his girlfriend's committal, as he blamed us. Actually, I think he learnt the tactic from Schuldig, who would disappear for days at a time, occasionally even weeks, until someone went out and dragged him out of whatever ditch he'd collapsed drunkenly into."

"So you're not going to worry for, oh, a week?" Michael snapped. "Bradley, he's your ward. He's your responsibility. If he's gone for more than a twenty-four hours, I'm filing a missing person's report, even if won't."

"Nagi won't thank you," Brad told him. "He _hates_ the police. I don't know, maybe he suffered at their hands back in Japan."

"I'm sure if he's about to be killed, he'll thank me later," Michael said coldly.

"No, he really won't," Brad said, slipping under water for a moment to get his hair properly wet. When he emerged Michael began to rub shampoo into his hair. The massage was a little rough, but Brad didn't object. "He would rather die than undergo the questioning he would have to put up with afterwards. Nagi has, in the past, been somewhat suicidal."

Michael dug his fingers tightly into Brad's head, and he yelped.

"Suicidal??" he spluttered. "And you let him just wander off?"

"He's not suicidal any more," Brad said, uncertainty clutching at his gut. "He's just angry, right now. He's angry because he's knows our anger was justified, not his. He knows he was in the wrong, and worse, he knows he was caught out. His pride has bee stung. Sending the police after him is hardly going mollify that stung pride."

"How, exactly, did you end up with guardianship of him?" Michael asked quietly.

"He chose me," Brad said.

"Funny, I don't seem to recall most legal system accepting _that_ as an acceptable method of adoption."

"Nothing about Schwarz was legal, Michael," Brad sighed. "Most of us don't even exist to the bureaucracy. Nagi built our identities from the ground up in each country we visited, passports, birth certificates, visas… Everything we needed. I couldn't even tell you if he was born Nagi Naoe, or whether his birthday is when he says it is. Which is another good reason not to go to the police, though I have more faith in his abilities than that."

"His abilities," Michael sighed. "It wouldn't be ridiculous to assume they extend beyond hacking, would it?" It wasn't a rhetorical question. He moved around, pulling Brad to face him, hooking one leg over Brad's. Their proximity had a marked effect on his boyfriend, which served to increase the intensity of the situation. 

Brad stared at him. Even though he trusted Michael implicitly, enough to even reveal his own power, something in his still rebelled at the idea of telling him about Nagi, or any other member of Schwarz. He wouldn't just be trusting Michael with his life, he'd be trusting him with theirs. Michael had no idea how heavy that responsibility might get. And then there was the fear, as irrational and as irrepressible as any conditioned phobia, that Michael might hate Nagi for his power. Brad wanted to deny that offhand, and it would make sense to since Michael hadn't treated Brad any differently after his revelation in the elevator, but he found he couldn't.

"Bradley?" Michael reached up to touch his face, but at the last moment changed his mid, and his hand hung there between them, hovering mere centimetres from Brad's cheek, dripping foam.

"Yes," Brad said eventually. "I mean… no, it wouldn't be ridiculous."

"And this ability is why you expect him to be able to look after himself," Michael stated.

"Yes."

"But you won't tell me precisely what it is."

"I can't," Brad said in a strangled voice. "It's… it's Nagi's. When he comes back, ask him. I can't tell you on his behalf."

Michael smiled. "I understand," he nodded. He let his hovering hand reach around Brad and pull him into a light embrace, kissing him sweetly. "I'll do as you ask, and give it a few days, but I'm still going to worry, you know."

Brad smiled into Michael's neck. "I understand."

* * *

Nagi's brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing and hearing. There were loud bangs, and lots of voices, but the words escaped him. Something above him - or was it below him? – was moving very quickly. There was lots of white. Nice, blurry, soothing white. Like the white inside his head, in the place where he'd gone when the pain got too much.

* * *

"A week."

"I know."

"One week."

"I know."

"Seven -"

"I know, okay?" Brad rounded on his boyfriend suddenly. He regretted it instantly. Michael stared up at him, face carefully blank. He was getting very worried about Nagi. So was Brad, and it showed in everything he did. He was surprised that Michael hadn't gone back to his own flat by now, the amount of times Brad had started yelling at him for any small thing. He was surprised, and glad. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he was left alone, but he was certain it would hardly be to take the productive measures Michael was forcing on him.

"Sit down," Michael tugged on his arm. "Come on, just for a moment."

"He's not going to walk through that door again," Brad said with absolute certainty. "Michael, he's not coming back."

"Yes, he will. Maybe just not under his own steam, but he will," Michael kept tugging, and eventually Brad relented. Michael let him keep his personal space once he was sitting, but didn't let go of his arm.

Brad stared into the middle distance. "I can't see it," he said. "I can't see him walking through that door for as far as my powers extend. They're short term, but no matter how hard I push he just isn't going to be here. Months, Michael."

"That's not the same as forever."

Brad shot him a laser-edged look. "Michael, be realistic. If he's not dead, he's going to die. You were right. Why can't you just say that? Just say 'I told you so' and get it over with."

Michael grimaced. "I've phoned the police. They're treating this as a runaway. They still expect him to turn up fine and healthy, probably somewhere upstate. Apparently it's not unusual. They're checking some of the more common motels and youth hostels for evidence he's been there."

"You phoned the police like you wanted to all along," Brad snarled.

"Yes, Brad, like I wanted to all along. They're trained to deal with this kind of thing. I can understand why you distrust them, but I did what I thought was right."

"You're right, I'm wrong," Brad growled.

"No. We were both wrong. You were wrong to assume he'd reappear safe and sound, I was wrong to assume something drastic would happen to him. He took his laptop; maybe he has just run away and is too proud to come back. Maybe you can't see him returning because he's set up house somewhere else. He was threatening to, remember?"

Brad stared at the polished wood floor. "Yes," he sighed. "I remember. But… no. Nagi wouldn't do that. It was an idle threat. I was so _certain_ of it."

"Don't start planning the funeral until you have his body," Michael said softly, sliding closer to Brad and putting an arm across his shoulders.

Brad shot him a sideways look. "Is that a rather more morbid version of 'don't count your chickens until they've hatched'?" he asked.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Michael smiled at him. "I believe you when you say Nagi can look after himself. He's told me as much before. He may have gone to visit one of your other old friends."

Brad stared at him. "Why didn't I think of that?" he gasped, leaping up from the sofa. Michael followed him dutifully to the telephone, and watched as he extracted a small card from an overclutered pin board.

Brad drummed his fingers impatiently as the phone rang. "Farfa-" he began. "Sorry, Sally, if Farfarello there? … I see. No, wait, please. It's about Nagi. … Well, he ran away a few days ago, and I just wanted to make certain he wasn't intruding on you. … Well, maybe a little. … Yes, I'm sure he'll surface sooner or later as well, but I thought it worthwhile making certain… I don't suppose I could speak to him? … No, okay. I'll wait while you ask." Brad glanced up at Michael, but there was no hope on his face. "Thank you, Sally. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'm afraid I have no idea what time it is in Ireland. … Really? Well, that's better than what I thought. Again, so sorry to wake you. If Nagi does turn up, can I rely on you to call? … Of course. Well, thank you again, good night."

Brad stared at the wall for a second, slipping into an apathetic state Michael was becoming worryingly used to seeing. He slipped an arm around Brad, and the older man jumped. Brad turned and offered Michael a weak smile, obviously steeling himself for the next call.

"Schuldig? …Oh. Well, danke."

Michael pulled Brad into a full hug this time, and Brad didn't resist. "It was a good idea," Brad offered. "If I wasn't so certain he isn't going to walk through that door for as far as I can foresee, I wouldn't be so worried. Schuldig picked up on it even before I called. I didn't even have to ask."

_Did he?_ Michael thought. _I think I'm ready to take a guess at what your ex's ability might be. I wonder…I'll wait until you're asleep. You've been through enough for one day._

"I love you," Michael told Brad. "Which is why you're going to do as I say, since I therefore have your best interests in mind, and go to bed. You haven't slept for days now."

"It's not the first time I've suffered from insomnia," Brad objected petulantly. He still worried that he hadn't worked up the nerve to say 'I love you' back. He couldn't believe that he still wasn't certain. The guilt was keeping him up almost as much as the fear for Nagi.

"I know, but the eight cups of coffee a day can hardly be helping," Michael pointed at the rack of drying mugs. "So much caffeine, so much sugar… No more, okay?"

"Great, so I get to go through withdrawal as well?" Brad asked sardonically. "My life just gets better and better."

"Come on," Michael wheedled. "Just try and get some sleep. I'll go out and buy sleeping pills, if you want."

"You know what I think will help me sleep?" Brad leered, in a lightning-fast mood change. He was telling the truth too – as Nagi had pointed out, several months ago now, he slept best with another body in the bed. And he desperately needed to relieve some of the tension that had been building ever since Michael had first voiced his worries over Nagi's disappearance.

Michael returned the look, and licked his lips. "You only had to ask," he told Brad, and began to lead him towards the master bedroom.

* * *

Nagi mind struggled to relate his current situation to something, anything. His eyes were open, and although everything was very blurred, there were definitely people there. Green people, with flashing things. No, wait, knives. Yes, knives. Nagi knew about knives. Farfarello liked knives. Therefore… therefore these green people must be Farfarello? Nagi struggled, knowing there was something wrong with that line of reasoning. Oh right, there were several green people. Farfarello must have summoned some of his demon friends. Farfarello was a demon, he'd read that somewhere. The green people were waving the flashing things – knives, he reminded himself – near his head. Funny, that.

* * *

Michael was exhausted. He'd known Brad could be demanding, but he'd never been anything like tonight before. Finally, though, he was asleep. Michael looked down at him, and almost succumbed to the temptation to curl up beside him, warm and comfortable, and sleep off this physical exhaustion. God knows he wanted to.

But instead he slithered out of the bed, winching and flinching and wondering if Brad would have as much trouble walking when he woke. Still, if this was all he had to suffer for a night like that? He'd do it every night.

He stumbled in the doorway. Okay, maybe not _every_ night. Possibly just the weekends, so he could sleep in. And on holidays. Of course, they'd have to be careful not to keep Nagi awake. Maybe they should get soundproofing? Michael had no doubt that Nagi would turn up, sooner or later. Honest.

These thoughts let him stay distracted from the task at hand, but eventually, standing in front of the phone, he had to face what he was going to do. Plucking the card from where it had been left beside the phone, he let himself collapse against the wall and sink to the floor. He squinted at the numbers in the dark, not wanting to switch the lights on. Praying he'd remembered the international codes correctly, he dialled.

"What do you want, Brad's boyfriend?" a nasal voice startled him.

"I want to know what your ability is," Michael said firmly.

"On a scale of one to ten? At least fifty," the voice said smugly. "No matter what Brad says to you, I'll always be the best he ever had."

"If you're trying to make me self-conscious, bully for you, but this is rather more important than my sex life."

"Nothing's more important than your sex life. Take it from me."

"From what I hear, most of Germany already has."

"Ooh, feisty. I like you. Hey, if you ever come to the homeland, I'm sure Brad would be up for a threesome. I already am."

"I'll put it on my to-do list," Michael said impatiently. "Can you read minds?"

There was silence.

"It's a simple enough question."

"What has Brad told you?" Schuldig asked cautiously.

"That he can see the future short term, and that Nagi has an ability, but he won't tell me what. I'm assuming it's something physical, since he seems confident about being able to take care of himself despite his size."

"Yeah, that'd be about right," Schuldig sounded distracted, as though he was thinking very hard. "Want to tell me why you called again?"

"I think you can read minds, or emotions, or something."

"Ja, well, fine, I can. What did you have in mind?"

"You tell me," Michael smirked. It wasn't some snide goad; he wanted to test the extent of Schuldig's powers. Because if he could read Michael's mind, then there really was a chance…

* There's more than just a chance, pet. *  Michael jumped. * There's a link between Schwarz so deep I couldn't lose the others if I tried. We even dram the same, sometimes. Perhaps it's a good thing we're in different time zones now… * the thought was suggestive and traced patterns of fire through Michael, making him respond despite his exhaustion.

"Is Nagi alive?" he asked, ignoring his body's demands.

"Yes," Schuldig said without missing a beat. "Even Brad knows that. We'd all feel it, if any one of us died. He's not scared that Nagi is dead, but there are other ways to lose a person." He paused. "Okay, he said differently, but he's a very black and white person like that. If he really thought about it, he'd know Nagi wasn't dead. Though that little revelation of his makes what I'm going to say next maybe even more disturbing."

"What?" Michael said, heart in throat.

"Nagi's alive, but he isn't conscious. And hasn't been for over a week. Well, he's heard things, maybe even seen things, but it's too different from normal. He's not conscious."

"Coma?" Michael asked.

"I don't know," Schuldig said, voice betraying that he wasn't comfortable with that at all. And then, "why do you care?"

"What?"

"Why do you care? Nagi's nothing to do with you."

"He's my friend. I care about him. Brad cares about him."

"But this isn't about Brad. I don't understand. Why isn't this about Brad? He's the one you're sleeping with."

"Even if I wasn't, I'd still be worried about Nagi. I'd probably still have called."

"I know. I wonder if I would."

"Do you have any friends you haven't slept with?"

Pause. "Well, no. What's that like?"

"Pleasant. You should try it."

"Maybe I will. Anyway, I have to get to work. Busy day sleeping with my colleagues. I hope you find Nagi soon. I'd keep an eye on the news, if I was you." And he hung up, before Michael could respond to any of that.

Brad was still sleep when he crawled back into the bed. It occurred to him that he'd brought so much of his stuff over since Nagi went missing that he was practically living there. Certainly his flat was bordering on uninhabitable now. He wondered if Brad had noticed. Burying his nose in the older man's hair and wrapping his arm over Brad's well-muscled body, he pressed himself close and tried not to think about comas and how much like sleeping they were, in a way.

* * *

Nagi knew he'd been slipping in and out of consciousness for days. He clung to that knowledge. Right now a lot of things were blurry and uncertain, but that was empirical knowledge he could clutch at when all else was mere conjecture.

He opened his eyes, and found the room blessedly dark. He was thirsty. He knew that this consciousness wouldn't last for long, the most he'd lasted before was a minute, but this thirst was driving him crazy.

Focusing was hard. It involved concentrating. Concentrating wore him out even more quickly. But he managed to move his head slightly, until the cup of water came into view. He remembered that cup of water from before, when a nurse had brought it in. He'd been thirsty then, too.

Moving his head wore him out physically, much to his concern. Well, there didn't seem to be anyone around. Reaching out mentally, he started to draw the cup towards him.

At first he thought he simply wasn't focusing right. Maybe he was at the wrong angle? No, the cup definitely wasn't moving. Okay, perhaps he was doing something wrong. Maybe his accuracy was off? What if he was moving the bed instead?

So he tried again, refocusing and concentrating as hard as he could. Nothing. Adrenaline began to wake him further as fear gripped him. He forced himself a little more upright in the bed. He could see the cup clearly now. He could reach it by hand, even, but that wasn't the point. He gritted his teeth.

Nothing.

Okay, maybe something else? The light switch?

Nothing.

The pillows?

Nothing.

Himself?

Nothing.

"Oh, you poor thing!" a nurse cooed. "Did someone put that out of your reach? Here, let me help." She held the cup to his lips for him, and despite himself he drank thirstily. "Oh honey, it's okay. Oh, you poor thing, don't cry. You're okay. You're going to be fine."

But no amount of soothing could make Nagi stop crying.

He wasn't going to be fine ever again. 


	9. Subject to Change

Subject to Change 

"And in other news the teenaged Asian boy, found on the New York City Line almost two weeks ago, has finally started to recover consciousness. He was found, beaten into unconsciousness with severe head wounds, and his current rate of recovery pays testament to the hospital's doctors and nurses... It is hoped that he will soon be able to give details of his attackers, and that the hospital will soon be able to reunite him with his family."

"Brad?"

"What?"

"We're going to a hospital in upstate New York."

"Why?"

"Nagi's there."

"I'll drive!"

* * *

It was a great change from the surly, rude Brad of the last few days, fidgeting and snapping and at everyone and everything. Now he was a mass of potential energy, positively crackling with it. His shoulders were taut, his back tense, his eyes fixed on the road, never blinking, and his mouth curled in a fixed grin, or maybe a grimace. Yes, it was a change, but Michael wasn't certain it was for the better.

"I think we ought to switch, for a bit," he suggested. "You shouldn't be driving when you're so tired."

"I'm not tired."

"You've had maybe three hours unbroken sleep in the last two weeks."

"I'm not tired."

"We passed the right exit about two miles back."

"Shit."

* * *

"How are we today?" The nurse smiled. Nagi scowled at her. He'd tried to get up and use the ensuite bathroom so tantalisingly close earlier, only to find his legs didn't seem to work. They'd found him between train and track. He was told that it was just broken bones, but it would take him a while to get back on his feet. They told him he was lucky his spine was badly damaged.

Badly? He hadn't known it was damaged at all. Like very bad whiplash, one nurse had described it to him. Not broken, but strained. He'd probably fallen out the carriage. And then there was the skull injuries, and probable brain damage. Oh yeah, and the broken ribs. And the dislocated shoulder, which despite being back in its socket still felt painful. He'd stretched the tendons or something. Biology wasn't Nagi's strong point.

And what upset Nagi most of all: they'd shave half his head. Not his whole head, oh no, but half. He had half a fringe, flopping into his eyes. And as tired as he was most of the time he couldn't even summon the energy to brush it out of the way. It tickled his eye and reminded him constantly that the 'probable brain damage' was the loss of his powers.

Nagi gave a noncommittal grunt.

"The doctors want to speak to you. Do you feel up to it?" she cooed.

Nagi gave her a superior look. "They'd come whether I did or not," he pointed out coldly.

The doctors were nice. They didn't treat him like a small child. They didn't force him to watch Pokemon every time it was on, they didn't make smiley faces with his food, they didn't tell him he'd had a nasty bump on the head when he wanted to know about the brain surgery. Well, that was unfair on the nurses. Even on the one in particular. She was just trying to be nice, but if Nagi had had access to his telekinesis he'd have thrown her through the window by now.

He tried not to think about that too often. It wasn't that it hurt, it just scared him. He felt so vulnerable, so small, so weak, so insignificant. And then there was the fear that Crawford wouldn't want him any more. Crawford had chosen him for his power. He didn't have that power any more.

"Naoe-kun," a voice interrupted his thoughts. He'd told them his name yesterday, but fallen asleep before he could remember his address or phone number.

"Good morning," he smiled tiredly.

"How are you feeling? Any headaches?"

"No, not yet. I wrote down my details last night, for you, when they woke me up to give me the painkillers."

"You'd rather have slept through it?" the doctor grinned. Dr Kurebayashi, a fellow country man, who Nagi suspected would rather have spoken wit him in Japanese, but the two Americans with him meant they had to stick to English.

"I don't like pills. Or injections," Nagi sighed. "I was wondering if anyone could tell me about what I assume must have been brain surgery. What happened?"

"The police want to come and question you, when you feel able to cope with it, about what happened. We don't want to alter any memories you might have."

"You stuck knives in my head," Nagi said dryly, "I think you may have altered them already."

"You came in with half your skull caved in. We didn't think you would survive," one of the other doctors said candidly. "It's very likely that you've suffered some brain damage, though we can't be certain yet how it will affect you. Have you had any memory trouble?"

"No."

"Any issues with personality change? Have you found yourself surlier or more inclined to mood changes?"

"No. I've always been this grumpy," Nagi smirked. The doctors chuckled.

"Any troubles with co-ordination?" the doctor asked, and Nagi became aware that he was ticking things off on a small clipboard.

"Not that I know of. I mean, I haven't been moving much, and I'm still getting used to being strapped up."

"Yes, they did rather make mincemeat of you, didn't they?"

"I don't know," Nagi sighed. "I mean, I can remember, but I think I lost consciousness pretty quick. I'm not good with pain."

"Well, that's about it for now," the doctor smiled. "Is there anything you want?"

Nagi bit his lip. "Was… anything found? A bag maybe?"

The doctors exchanged glances. "No, nothing. We assumed the motivation was theft. You didn't have a wallet or watch or anything on you either."

"Damn," Nagi sighed. "I had a laptop with me. I was hoping… Well, you can guess."

"We're sorry," Kurebayashi spread his hands apologetically. "I hope you had insurance."

Nagi grimaced. "Knew I'd forgotten something."

"Well, we'll see you later," one of the other doctors said with a guilty smirk. "We're sending those numbers down to reception so they can contact your parents."

"Not my parents," Nagi sighed. "My guardian."

There was a pause. An awkward pause. After much shuffling of feet the doctors left Nagi alone, with only the most of obligatory of nodded goodbyes. He watched them go with apathy. It didn't bother him that he'd wrong footed them, when they'd merely been trying to be nice, but neither did it please him.

Nagi was staring mindlessly at the blank white wall when the door was flung violently open, juddering on its hinges. He'd switched off, doing his best not to think about anything, so it wasn't until he was wrapped in a fierce hug that he came back to reality.

He found himself smothered in a wave of hot silky milk chocolate skin. Michael was wearing a sleeveless shirt and his arms brushed flesh on Nagi's back, left bare by the gown. It made him gasp, and he hugged Michael back convulsively. Michael smelt of sweat and coffee and smoke, a sure sign that Brad was stressed. Brad only smoked when he was stressed.

Michael eventually forced himself to relax, and he settled himself on the left side of Nagi's bed, one arm still loosely around Nagi's shoulders. Nagi found his hands tightly tangled in the soft, corded wool of Michael's vest. He didn't want to let go. It was a strange moment for Nagi.

There was a polite cough from the doorway. Nagi looked up to see Brad standing there, hands tucked behind his back, head slightly bowed. His shirt was rumbled and done up incorrectly, his trousers were badly creased and his watch was missing from his wrist, noticeable in it's absence by a band of pale skin.

Nagi glanced sideways, and saw that Michael was frowning at Brad, and shooting looks at Nagi, trying to communicate that Brad should come and hug the boy as well.

"Hi," Nagi managed.

"Nagi," Brad swallowed.

"Sit down," Michael finally snapped. Nagi and Brad both jumped at the abrupt command, but Brad actually obeyed, seating himself awkwardly on Nagi's right.

"How are you?" Brad asked, not looking at the boy.

Nagi burst into tears.

Michael jerked back, jerking his arm back into his body in sheer shock. Before he could wrap it around Nagi again in a comforting hug Brad had reached around Nagi and rested his arm across Nagi's shoulders. He dug left-handed into a pocket and produced a white silk handkerchief with BC embroidered in a corner. Nagi clutched it and occasionally made halfhearted swipes at his eyes with it.

In soft Japanese Crawford said, "You've accomplished what Rosenkreuz never managed to figure out."

"You know?" Nagi spluttered in the same language.

"I can tell," Brad said uncertainly. "I suppose it's a hangover from spending so much time around Schuldig."

Nagi couldn't talk then, sobbing harder. Strange broken squeaks came from deep in his throat, and Michael felt his heart constrict. He had no idea what was going on, but every paternal instinct he had screamed for him to cuddle Nagi and mutter soothing lies. Nagi wouldn't appreciate it, he knew, and Brad's method was far and away the best way to deal with whatever Nagi was doing, but he couldn't keep himself from reaching out and squeezing on of Nagi's hands. Nagi offered him a watery smile, but Michael could tell that Nagi wasn't actually looking at him.

"You'll be normal," Brad told the Japanese boy.

"I don't _want_ to be normal," Nagi burst out with such alarming ferocity that even Brad jumped. "I like being special. My life is crap. Psychokinesis made it bearable. I was _special_."

"Your life isn't…" Brad couldn't bring himself to use the juvenile swearword, "that bad," he eventually substituted weakly. "Normal has its perks too. You don't need to be special any more."

For some reason that wasn't making it any better. 

Nagi shoved his elbow into Brad's stomach, and Brad gasped not because it hurt, but because it didn't. Nagi was weak, and already his tears were exhausting him. He choked and struggled for air, gasping like a dying fish. Brad rubbed circles on his back awkwardly, and exchanged looks with Michael over his head. Should they call a nurse? Nagi was shaking and shivering, eyes screwed shut and mouth half open.

Before either of them could move, though, Nagi began to calm down. He wriggled out of both their grasps and lay down, pulling the hospital blankets up over his head. Brad watched the covers move as Nagi tried to curl into a foetal position but had to settle with simply being on his side. Michael reached out to rest his hand where Nagi's back was, but Nagi jerked and shook his hand off before Michael had even rested its weight on him.

Brad stared miserably at the door. "Well," he said dully, "I could have handled _that_ better."

"Handled what?" Michael said, shooting cautionary glances at Nagi's form.

"You're right," Brad went on. "No Social Service system would let a child pick their own guardian. I'm a terrible father."

"Not true," Michael refuted immediately. "Teenagers are hard to fathom as it is."

Brad looked at him sadly. "I suppose we ought to go. I get the impression Nagi doesn't want us here."

"You think?" Michael said incredulously.

Nagi heard them leave, but he still refused to emerge from under the covers. It was safe and dark and warm. He was still crying, but it was just tears now, and the occasional sob. That gut-wrenching panting and smothering pain was over, a passing result of something akin to a panic attack as the reality of his situation finally settled fully in his brain.

He wanted Michael and Brad to come back, he realised. He was lonely, and bored. Hospital was the most boring thing he'd ever been put through. Michael had made him feel wanted, and Brad… Brad had used the word father.

Nagi tugged the blankets away and peered around the room. Listening hard, he could hear voices in the corridor outside. He wanted desperately for them to belong to Brad and Michael, but he couldn't bring himself to assume.

"Crawford-san?" he quavered.

The voices stopped, and the door opened. It was a male nurse. Nagi bit back the wave of crushing disappointment.

"You want someone?" the nurse asked cheerfully.

"A… friend, just left," Nagi said in a small voice. "Two friends. I thought it might be them talking. It doesn't matter."

"Wait, a white guy and a black dude?" the nurse asked.

"Yeah, that'd be them," Nagi sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"They're just around the corner," the nurse grinned. "Want me to go bring them back?"

Nagi wavered for a moment. It was embarrassing to call them back, so soon after he had made it clear he wanted them to leave, but weighing his pride against his loneliness he nodded frantically.

Within seconds Brad and Michael were back, Michael sitting on the bed again, down by Nagi's feet, Brad taking the chair this time. Nagi was too tired to sit up again, but after flailing about for a second he found the remote that allowed him to make the bed do it for him.

"I'm sorry," he said, dark eyes huge.

Brad's eyes were bloodshot and a bit puffy. Nagi couldn't stop staring at him.

"Why don't you tell us what happened, if you want to?" Michael suggested awkwardly.

"I was going to go and stay in a hostel," Nagi bit his lip. "Really make you both worry. But I got, I don't know, mugged, I guess, on the train. The police aren't going to be able to classify the crime. I kinda provoked them, I think. And then I woke up here."

"Short story," Michael murmured, eyebrows raised. 

"What have you been up to recently?" Nagi asked. "I only found out today how long I'd been out."

"Going frantic," Brad spoke up suddenly. "I couldn't see you coming back. We even called the police." He paused. "No, Michael called the police. And Michael suggested I call Schu and Farf, just in case. Michael was worried about you from the beginning." He sighed and slumped down in the chair.

"He was beside himself," Michael said. "Brad was really worried about you."

"I know," Nagi said with a small smile. "He's been smoking. I can smell it all over you," he looked up at Michael. There was a cheeky twinkle in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Michael laughed. "You should see the amount of coffee he's been drinking. We're going to have to make him switch to decaf from now on."

"Oh dear," Nagi smiled. "He's not going to like that."

"I was thinking we switch it when he's not around. You know, empty the normal coffee jar and replace it with decaf, so he can't tell."

"I'm right here. And I use real beans, as you both know, so that's not going to work."

Nagi looked over at him. Not taking his eyes off his ex team member, he said to Michael, "I know it's rued, but would you mind leaving me and Brad to speak in private for a bit? I don't mean to exclude, its just, well…" he grimaced apologetically.

"Of course," Michael smiled. "I'll go and get some coffee from the foyer."

"Oh no you don't," Brad grabbed his shoulder as Michael began t make his way out. "You drank almost as much as me. Fruit juice, okay?" He leant in and gave his lover a quick kiss on the lips. Michael embraced him briefly, nuzzling his jaw line.

"Whatever you say," Michael murmured. "I'll wait outside." He pulled back and looked at Brad, then leant in for a much deeper, more passionate kiss. When he left, Nagi laughed to see that Brad was blushing.

He sat down next to Nagi on the bed, toeing off his shoes and stretching his legs out, crossing them at the knee. Nagi marvelled at this.

"When did this occur?" he wondered allowed.

Brad looked at him. "When did what occur?"

"You. Being casual. It's a Michael thing, isn't it?" Nagi managed to resurrect that cheeky twinkle whilst keeping his face completely deadpan.

Brad chuckled. "It's relief," he said candidly. "That and being supremely tired. Too tired to care." He sighed and settled back, hands behind his head, fingers interlocked. "Damn," he said suddenly. "We've got to book a bloody hotel too."

"You should have asked Michael before he left. You know, when you didn't have his tongue down his throat." Brad almost swatted Nagi playfully, but stopped midswing. Nagi was already ducking, but his face fell when he realised Brad had put his hand back behind his head. He hated being ill. Broken. Delicate.

"He'll probably do it anyway," Brad forced himself to keep talking like nothing had happened. "He's very practical. It probably occurred to him during the drive here."

"Probably?" Nagi asked, voice a little sharp.

Brad bit his lip. "He _is_ going to," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I don't want to upset you any further, but no matter what I do I seem to put my foot in it."

"I've got to get used to it," Nagi said bitterly. "I'm not_ special_ any more. I'm _Normal_."

Brad looked at him. "Michael is normal, as you so patronisingly put it," he said, frost creeping into his tone.

"I don't want normal," Nagi said, his frustration showing in his voice. "I know you do. I know it's not a bad thing. I know Michael's a great guy, don't get me wrong, and I know there are a lot of great normal guys out there. That's not _it_. I don't want those things. I never did. I loved being a telekinetic. It was like my reward for putting up with so much shit during my life."

"Did you ever consider it might be the cause?" Brad said quietly.

"Always," Nagi said. "But that was okay. I had a powerful gift. Of course it came with a price." He paused for a moment. "Can you imagine losing your gift?" he asked softly.

Brad felt his stomach clench. The mere idea made him feel physically ill. Not knowing the future? Living in that uncertain chaos the rest of humanity was subject to? He moaned.

"Exactly," Nagi said.

"We are arrogant," Brad said with difficulty. "We were proud."

"We had every right to be," Nagi pointed out.

"No, we didn't. We all take our gifts for granted. Schuldig bitches constantly about his power, but he'd go insane _without_ it. Maybe Farfarello was right to avoid using his gift. He never look his power for granted, because he used it so rarely he got a thrill out of it every time." Brad blinked, hard.

"You and Schuldig never _had_ that option," Nagi said dully.

"That doesn't mean we don't take what we have for granted. Not just our powers." Brad sat up and turned to face Nagi properly. "The way I felt just then, imagining being unable to see the future, it was nothing compared to how I felt when I allowed myself to believe that I'd lost you."

Nagi looked up at him. He couldn't find anything to say.

"I'm tired," Brad said weakly. "I'm tired and emotional and I've been on the verge of a nervous break down for a week. I have a right to be sappy." Nagi smiled at that, and Brad smiled back. "Nagi, you're very important to me. If you had stayed with Schuldig, or Farfarello, I probably wouldn't be here now. I don't like admitting that kind of weakness even to myself, but you've been a great help to me."

"And you me," Nagi inserted.

Brad cupped Nagi's head with one hand. "Things have changed a lot," he said. "We've both changed as people. We're not the same men who tried to take over the world. I don't know, but I've passed that now. I lack that kind of motivation."

He left it hanging. Nagi knew what Brad was asking him to say. Brad was asking him to admit that it meant nothing to him as well now. The power, the anarchy, the potential for all or nothing. Nagi couldn't do it. He still missed that sense of grandeur and purpose. Brad wanted some domestic scene, as far as Nagi could tell, probably in a little suburban house with a white picket fence and a yappy dog.

"Nagi?" Brad drew the boy's attention slowly back to himself. "I know that's not where you are, right now, but you're going to have to get there."

Nagi stared at him. He could feel the tears welling up again.

"You've never had it," Brad went on. "I have. I had really quite a happy childhood, all things considered. Certainly compared with you or Farfarello. I know that it's a desirable thing. All your experience tells you otherwise. You're going to have to play this one blind, Nagi. You've got a lot to learn, and a long way to go."

"What if I can't?" Nagi burst out. "They don't know if I'll even be able to walk yet. They can't tell how badly my spine was damaged. I'm exhausted the whole time, because of all the drugs. Half the time I'm hallucinating. I've got to get used to life without telekinesis." His shoulders began to shake. "Who knows what else got cut out of my mind? I can't do all this at once," he sobbed. "I can't do normal, Crawford-san. I don't know how!"

Brad leant over and wrapped his arms around Nagi. "It's okay," he soothed. "Life changes are hard to cope with. I just think you'll find it easier if it does all happen at once. A complete break."

Nagi sniffed. "What about Schu and Farf?" he asked.

Brad gave him an amused look. "They both managed it long before us, remember? We were both upset about it. Now ask what you really want to know."

"What about Omi?" Nagi asked.

"He's probably getting very worried that he hasn't heard from you for a fortnight," Brad smiled. "If you let this happen, then it will simply make it easier for the two of you to be together."

Nagi scowled then. "That's emotional blackmail," he pointed out. "If I let you force me into your two point four children fantasy, you'll let me have my boyfriend."

Brad looked taken aback. "Where did all that come from?" he asked, looking a bit hurt. "I have no nuclear family ideal. That's not what I'm pushing you into. I didn't mean to push."

"Give it a rest," Nagi scoffed.

"Okay, I am pushing. I'm doing it because I love you, Nagi. You need to do this. I'm not making you go back to high school, or stop hacking, or find yourself some cheerleader girlfriend." Crawford brushed that half fringe out of Nagi's eyes. "I was stating what I felt was the truth. I have a problem with you and him being together because of our shared past. Schuldig couldn't understand it. He's moved away from that, and he can't see the point in holding that kind of grudge. I'm trying to do the same."

Nagi dropped into silent contemplation for several seconds. His minds was whirling and clicking. Brad felt bad. Nagi was in the perfect position to guilt him into anything. 

"Can Omi come and stay with us?" Nagi asked. He held his breath.

"You're supposed to say 'if I do as you ask'," Brad prompted.

"What precisely are you asking?" Nagi said slyly.

Brad was stuck for an answer. He couldn't demand that Nagi change, they'd already gone over the problems with that scenario, and if he merely asked that Nagi tried he'd make a show of effort but wouldn't bother. Nagi was trying to guilt Brad into letting Omi come to stay. The problem was, it was working. 

"I want you to honestly make an effort," Brad began slowly, "to accept that your life has changed irrevocably. If you can't do that, you will find yourself unable to adapt to the changes that have taken placed, and you will sink into a worse depression than anything you have felt before and will eventually be driven to suicide."

Nagi's gaze turned inwards. "Scare tactics," he said quietly. "I'd forgotten how good you were at that."

"I don't know how I would react to the presence of Bombay in our apartment," Brad said candidly. "I'm willing to try."

"Appealing to my pride," Nagi categorised. "If you can put up with what I ask, I'd be a lesser man if I couldn't put up with what you ask.

"We'd have to move," Brad went on. This got Nagi's attention. "There's not really enough space in that apartment for four people. I wouldn't be able to stand running into the two of you all over each other everywhere."

"Four people?" Nagi raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're trying to distract me by subtly dropping hints that Michael is now a permanent fixture to our household?"

Brad blushed. Nagi's other eyebrow joined its partner.

"Perhaps you weren't," he mused. "Was that accidental?"

"He hasn't officially moved in," Brad looked uncomfortable. "It's just, well, with your disappearance I needed him around a lot. He's got his own chest of drawers in my room. He has his toiletries are in our bathroom. His cereal is in the cupboards." Brad sighed. "If you're not comfortable with him being, around, of course…" he trailed off. 'Of course' what? He couldn't ask Michael to move out, not without following him. But he couldn't deny Nagi. A rather large portion of his future happiness depended on Nagi right now. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"Do you love him?" Nagi asked. "I've heard him say it to you, but you don't say it back. You change the subject, or stutter something vaguely affectionate, or simply don't answer. You're not just doing this out of guilt because you don't feel the same?"

There was a hard lump in Brad's throat. "I don't know," he swallowed. "It's a bit fast-"

"Excuses," Nagi told him harshly. "If you don't know, you don't love him."

Brad's eyes widened. "No," he objected. "No!"

There was a knock on the door. Both Brad and Nagi stared guiltily as Michael stepped around the thin door. He was blushing so hard it showed against his dark skin.

"I just though I should, well, mention that I, well, can hear you. Um." He stared at his feet for a moment, stealing himself, then he looked up and met Brad's eyes. "It doesn't matter to me whether you can say 'I love you' or not. I know you do."

Brad caught his breath. Nagi could feel the electricity in the room, electricity being where his talent had always focused itself the most. At least he could still feel this kind, he amused.

Brad swung his legs off the bed and in two short steps slammed Michael into the wall. He kissed Michael passionately. Michael just stood there, stunned, hands pressed against the wall because his knees had gone weak and he was terrified he'd collapse. He didn't want to do that. The kiss was too intense.

Brad broke the kiss, gasping for air. "I love you. Oh god, I love you," he moaned. He wrapped his arms around Michael and pulled him away from the wall. Michael returned the gesture, pressing their bodies together. Brad nuzzled his neck and nipped at his ear, all the while murmuring 'I love you'.

Nagi couldn't look at them. Closing his eyes he promised himself that Omi was coming to stay. He had to be. 

Oh shit. What if Brad and Michael were like this the whole time? If Brad didn't want to see Omi and Nagi making out everywhere, Nagi certainly didn't want to have the fact his boyfriend was on the other side of the world rubbed in his face with every casual touch between the two older men.

Brad turned his head, briefly, and squinted at Nagi. "I'll bring you a laptop tomorrow," he panted. "Find out when they let you out of here, and arrange something with Omi."

Nagi's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Michael had one hand down the back of Brad's creased trousers. "Yes. We have to go find our hotel and have sex now."

"Don't forget to get one with a mobile Internet connection!" Nagi called out as they dragged each other out of the room. They'd be lucky to make it as far as the car before their passion overcame them.

So things were changing, Nagi thought. Michael was moving in. Omi was coming to stay. They might be moving somewhere larger, which Nagi wasn't so happy about because he was quite attached to their flat. He'd lost his powers, but well, Omi was coming to stay, he was getting a new laptop and Brad was going to be very very happy for a while to come. Nagi could use that.

When the nurse came in to check on the boy, he was sleeping with a grin on his face.


End file.
